


CSI: Chicago

by tyronexx



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: AU, Gallavich, M/M, Multi Chapter, Prison, WIP
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-27
Updated: 2014-08-03
Packaged: 2018-02-06 11:19:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 34,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1856167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tyronexx/pseuds/tyronexx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ian Gallagher is a writer, currently working on set of the CBS show "CSI: Chicago".  To get some inspiration he visits the Chicago prison and meets the inmate Mickey Milkovich, who gets hired as a criminal consultant for the show, once he's done his prison time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. one

“It's just complete and utter bullshit. The whole episode. You're telling me, that this rich lady, got killed at that shop, because she gets her clothes dry cleaned there? In the fucking South side of Chicago? Like any rich person would even set foot in that neighborhood. And that's just one of many things I've found wrong with this piece of shit.”

  
Ian Gallagher threw the script onto the big, wooden conference table in the meeting room of CBS Television Studios in Los Angeles, California and flopped himself in one of the big leather chairs. He ran his hands through his auburn hair and looked at the suits sitting across from him.

  
“No wonder shooting the second episode gets delayed every two days when this is what you present the producers. I fucking knew, I shouldn't have let you take the reigns on this one.”

  
He glared at his assistant and substitute, Lance, who suddenly found his hands to be incredibly interesting to look at. His boss sighed and pulled his notebook out of his bag.

  
The shoot of the new CSI spin-off, CSI:Chicago had originally been scheduled to start two weeks before and Ian, though signed on as head of the writers, couldn't participate in writing the second episode as he had had to fly back to his hometown of Chicago to attend the funeral of his father.

  
Devastated to miss the first few writing sessions to pretend to mourn the death of Frank Gallagher, whose body, after decades of drug and alcohol abuse had finally abandoned him, he had left Lance in charge. He didn't know his team very well yet, since they'd just been hired to work on the show together, since the series officially got picked up by the CBS, but he'd seemed talented enough to represent him in his absence. Apparently, a bad judgment call on Ians side.  
“Alright, so let's start over.”

 

  
Mickey Milkovich was lying on the top bunk of his prison cell, staring at the stained wall above him. In prison, he kept pretty much everything top, which was funny, because he was usually more of a bottom kind of guy. Not a good thing, though, if you were locked in with hundreds of convicts, most of the homophobes and fag beaters, who had nothing better to do than look for trouble. There was no admitting weakness in prison, something he'd learned in his youth, during one of his many stays at the juvenile detention center of Chicago.

  
In comparison to prison, those weeks in juvie seemed like a vacation to the Seychelles. While in juvie he just had to announce his last name and the Milkovich reputation gave him the respect and fear he deserved, here, it was hard work staying at the top of the food chain. Finding the right friends, paying the gangs to leave you be and beating on the new inmates to prove your dominance. He'd learned to adjust quickly. Now he was in a cell with three giant, muscular mountains of men who he'd somehow convinced to accept him as one of them, even though he was about half as tall as the shortest of the three.

  
Out of the four of them, Mickey had the least amount of time to serve. Armed robbery usually got you a sentence of 6 to 30 years and he'd gotten lucky and only been sentenced to five because the crime happened on his eighteenth birthday and the dude he shot, ended up not loosing his eyesight, contrary to the doctors prediction.

  
Manny, Todd and José, his middle-aged cellmates hadn't been as lucky. Manny and José had killed their wives in the heat of the moment, which according to Illinois law counted as Voluntary manslaughter and Todd refused to tell anybody what had him thrown into the metal hotel.  
In his whole six years of being imprisoned, Mickey was pretty sure he'd only heard José talk two or three times, always, to ask him if he could eat his food.

  
So Mickey had only six months left until he was free to go and he was counting the days. Five years without a dick up his ass was nothing he wanted to repeat and the only reason he was seriously considering finding himself a normal job to never risk getting locked away again.

  
He didn't have any remarkable skills, though, and a criminal record longer than the Titanic movie, so his only option was to maybe not get caught the next time he decided to rob a store.

  
It was almost lights out time and he wasn't that tired, but excited for the silence that came with all the inmates going to sleep. One of the worst things about prison, for Mickey, was never getting a chance to be alone. In all those years he hadn't been by himself once. The showers were just one giant room with a bunch of shower heads hanging from the ceiling and the toilet was literally five feet away from him in the corner of the room. Jerking off had become such a public event, that he literally didn't care anymore if someone noticed he was doing it. In here, nobody gave a shit anymore.

 

“This isn't working at all. Let's just take a break.”

  
It was about four hours later and Ian wasn't getting anywhere with this script. He couldn't think of any good stories and every crime his colleagues suggested were flat and unbelievable. Though being from the South side, he never was one to participate or take much notice of the serious crimes happening there. The best advice for surviving in a neighborhood like the one he came from, was keeping your head down and worrying about yourself.

  
And if you did see something you'd better shut up about it. Giving away information of any kind was a sure way to get yourself killed. Lance, Kelly and Michael, the other two members of the writing team were talking about recent TV shows and whether they liked them or not. Ian shook his head. They all looked demotivated and tired. He couldn't blame them. It was 10 pm at night and they hadn't even managed to write two pages. Sending them home would've probably been the right choice, but they had a deadline and producers that were eagerly waiting for something to work with.

  
He checked his emails and almost dropped his phone, when Kelly slammed her hand on the table.

  
“That's it!” She was smiling brightly now, her eyes wide open. The men around her looked at her tensely.

  
“Thank god!” Ian sighed and put his phone away. “What is it?” The petite woman braided her long brown hair into a pony tale and sat up in her chair.

  
“Sherlock Holmes!” Ians posture deflated and he leaned back.

  
“What the fuck, Kelly? Explain yourself, maybe?” Lance rolled his eyes.

  
“Well, isn't it obvious? You guys have seen the show, haven't you? We need a criminal consultant. Like that Moriarty guy.” Ian nodded, acquiring a liking for the idea.

  
“Somebody from the South side, maybe an ex-con, who's got some experience and can tell us about some crimes first hand. Really from the perspective of the criminal.” Ian thought about it and actually finally found some hope for this project blooming up inside him.

  
“That's a great idea, Kelly. Go home you guys, I'll call Jeff right now and see what we can do! I'll let you know first thing tomorrow.” They all seemed relieved to be able to go home, and within minutes the conference room was empty.

  
Jeff seemed to have been asleep prior to his call because all Ian heard on the other side of his phone was a muffled: “Hello?” and then some yawning. Ian chuckled.

  
“I see you're working hard to get this project going, huh?” He could hear some sounds that seemed to be his boss getting out of bed and then a door closing.

  
“Sorry, had someone in the room with me.” The redhead laughed. “Jeff, how could you. I thought we had something special.” He could hear the other man drinking something.

  
“Well, Ian, it's always a fun time hooking up with you but you're really just like my last resort. I only bottom if I absolutely have to, but you know that.” Ian shook his head. They'd had this conversation multiple times, because Jeff, although being ridiculously good looking and rich, was so forgetful, Ian sometimes thought he had beginning Alzheimer.

  
“I do know. That's not what I called you for, though. I have an idea for the show.” Jeff sighed. “Jesus fucking hallelujah. That's good to hear. This show is giving me gray hair, can you believe it? Actual gray hair. So this idea, what's it about? Shoot!”

  
Ian explained Kellys idea, then paused, hoping for some good feedback. His boss took his time to think about what he'd just heard.

  
“Ian, I think that could actually work. Will be difficult to track down former convicts, because of identity protection and all that shit, but we can ask Chicago prison if we can interview some inmates.”

  
The response took a load off of Ians mind. Finally, something good was happening here.

  
“Also, imagine the promo we can do. Like, based on a true story, and all that.” Approving murmuring was coming from the other line, then a muffled voice asking Jeff to come back to bed.

  
“Whoops, gotta go. I'll call the lawyers and everything tomorrow and let you know when you can fly over to do the interviews. Night, babe.”

  
Ian wished him a good night, then sat back down. Though this was a good idea, they would still need a script within 24 hours and if there wasn't any at the end of that time limit, it would all be blamed on him.

 

“Attendance check!” Mickey jerked out of his sleep and would've fallen out of the bed, if José hadn’t already been standing in front of the bunk, serving as a barrier.

  
“Shit, when did the lights get turned on, again?” He quickly jumped off his rundown mattress and stood next to his cellmate, looking up to him, waiting for an answer.

  
The big guy just stared at him, emotionless, as always. Mickey shook his head.

  
“Really? That early, huh? Yes, José, I, too, think that is very unusual. Let's talk about it some more after the guards have been here.” José just lifted the corners of his mouth, the closest thing he did that would indicate a smile. It was enough for Mickey. He was the only one that could ever get him to do that and he could hear Manny and Todd laughing at the two of them from across the room. Everybody seemed to be especially chipper today. He nodded at his cellmates.

  
“Morning.” They nodded back and the room fell silent when the guards came in.

  
It depended on whose shift it was, but most of the guards where perverse, power-mad psychopaths who got off on bullying inmates. Today, they were lucky. Their favorite guard Hector came in and clicked his clicker four times when he'd counted every person standing in the room. As he went through the door, he seemed to drop a packs of cigarettes. Before he went out of sight, he turned around and winked at the boys.

  
When the announcement was made, that they were free to move again, Mickey sprinted towards the little box and threw them to Manny. Behind his bed was a loose brick in the wall where they kept all the presents they usually got from Hector.

  
Todd grabbed the toilet paper and headed to the metal toilet in the corner. Mickey and Josés cue to leave the room. You really didn't want to be anywhere near their cell when the 6'5 Russian guy took his morning dump.

  
They headed towards the breakfast room, and took a seat at their usual table. Aside from José they were mostly Russian or Ukrainian descent, most of the older guys at the table friends of his father Terry, who, bizarrely wasn't in prison right now. Usually, Terry Milkovich only lasted a few days in the free world before violating his probation and going back to the pokey. So he either was dead, on some pills that calmed his hotheadedness or he was lying dead in some ditch, killed by the lgbt movement, that he fought so vehemently.

  
He sat down next to his uncle Tony and poked around in his suspiciously greenish looking oat meal. Mickey thanked all the gods, or whoever you were supposed to thank for this kind of shit, that the prison store sold ramen noodles. The only thing that he could keep down in this shithole.

  
When he was done eating his own portion, José nudged him in the side and they exchanged plates. It was nothing Mickey had to do. The big Spanish guy didn't force him to give him his food. It was just some routine that had settled in because José was always hungry and the guards didn't like it when the prisoners threw away their food, untouched.

  
When the bell rang, and they were allowed to leave the room, they headed to the gym. The one good thing about being in prison, for Mickey, was that you were basically forced to work out. The only other option was sitting around in your cell or doing some shitty work, which wasn't necessary because his brother Iggy got away the last time they'd gone out for a robbery and there was a pretty good amount of cash waiting for him once he got out.

  
So he usually spend about two or three hours daily working out. Aside from building up muscles, he also got to watch sweaty guys do some heavy lifting, which wasn't bad at all and good to think back to when he jerked off.

  
The announcement came when he was lying on a bench press with José spotting for him.

  
“Attention, to all Inmates of Metropolitan Correctional Center, Chicago. The CBS network is looking to interview convicts from the South side of Chicago about crimes they've committed or observed. If there is an interest in participating, sign yourself up at the prison shop and you will be contacted as to when and where the interview will take place.”

  
Suddenly the place was filled with ramblings. People were discussing, trying to find out what TV show or reality show the CBS was planning and if they would be filmed and on TV. Mickey shook his head and kept on lifting weights.

  
“Why the fuck does everybody want to do this? Just because of boredom?” José shrugged and tilted his head.

  
“Well, that's like one hour out of your day. And then you've gotta go back to the cell. What's the point?” The speakers cracked again, then the prison directors voice blasted through the halls.

  
“Every inmate that had his visiting rights taken away, due to misbehavior is excluded from the chance to participate in the program.” Mickey scoffed.

  
“That eliminates like half the people in here.” They guards were tough and took away visiting rights often and gladly. Many of the men in the gym complained loudly. He turned back around to face José.

  
“They're only mad because they had hopes that the interviewer's a chick.” The giant raised his eyebrows. Mickey shook his head.

  
“It's forbidden for chicks to come visit, you ogre. Oh, I'm sorry, you wouldn't know. The only female that would come to visit you, you stabbed to death.” José shoved him premonitory and the shorter man raised his hands in defense.

  
“Relax, rocky. I'm leaving.”

  
The shower room was empty. Something Mickey'd never seen before.

  
He used the alone time to quickly look out of the window. It was the only one in the building, low enough for any of the inmates to look through and after month and month of seeing the ugly beige of the prison walls, it was a nice change to see some nature.

  
He could see the entrance of the prison and a big black van parked just behind the gate in the fence that surrounded the whole building, the CBS logo on the side. He watched as the entrance door opened and a bunch of businessmen appeared, surrounded by some armed guards. Just one of them didn't seem like the others. He was tall, taller than any of the other men and his firery red hair was short on the sides and a little longer on the top of his head. He had broad shoulders and was wearing a big coat, with orange stripes on the inside. His long, skinny legs were surrounded by black skinny jeans that were tugged into black boots that seemed like they were made for hiking.

  
The guards guided them to the van and they got in, the redhead lingering in front of the car, talking to the guards. He was talking with his hands a lot and dropped his phone during an especially expressive gesture. When he bent down, to pick up the device, his coat slid downwards and revealed a perfectly round ass in his tight jeans, that made Mickey knees weak.

  
Hell, if this man would be any part of the interviewing thing, he would go sign up right this second.

  
Luckily, he still had his visiting privileges.

The meeting with the prison director had gone incredibly well. Though he didn't know why he had to fly all the way back to Chicago just to sign a few contracts and answer some questions he didn't know, but he would take it gladly, if that meant he would get some inspiration as to what to write about. Jeff had really outdone himself with the whole organizing of the event and had called him, as promised, right the next morning to tell him to pack a bag and head to the airport to meet with the Prison leader.

  
Now all he had to do was fly back to Los Angeles and meet his team for a business dinner to discuss the matter and write the next episode so the producers would get off his ass.

 


	2. two

It took 4 people, 24 hours, multiple runs to the Thai place around the corner and about 400 liters of coffee, but in the end, Ian and his team had written the episode everyone was waiting for. By the time he drove home to his little condo outside the city, his head was pounding and his hands were trembling from the lack of sleep and too much caffeine. Though tired, he was content. A huge weight was lifted off his chest with episode two done. Now there were only 22 more episodes, that they had to write. But he had high hopes for the prison interviews project to work out and give them the authentic stories they needed for the show to be a hit.

  
When he finally arrived at his house, Ian went straight to bed. Though being deadly tired, he couldn't fall asleep right away. They fuckload of coffee or the adrenaline from finishing his task, something was keeping him awake.

  
Ian was excited to fly back to Chicago in a couple of days to actually meet some people and interview some inmates and he wondered if there would be anyone he knew. It wasn't that likely because back in the day, his sister Fiona had always made sure that her brothers and sister didn't hang around anybody too violent or criminal. And she had done a great job raising her siblings. After an hour of lying there, fully awake, he considered calling Jeff, to see if the producer was up for some playtime, since fucking usually sent Ian right to sleep, but he decided against it.

  
Like the man had said the day before, he only bottomed if he had to and judging from the guy that was sharing Jeffs bed, it didn't seem like he was that desperate.

  
While still deciding whether he should jerk off instead, Ian finally drifted to sleep.

 

 

 “JOSÉ, you big fucking rhino, if you don't stop banging your hands against the bed frame I swear to god I will rip each of your fingers off individually and shove 'em up your fat ass.”

  
Mickey was feeling a little bit on edge today.

  
He hadn't slept much because Manny had somehow managed to catch a cold and had snored so loudly throughout the whole night, that Mickey and José had given up on trying to fall asleep and had started playing Uno instead, the only card deck Hector had given them.

  
How Manny could haven even gotten sick was a mystery to Mickey, as they weren't allowed to use the prison yard anymore, since Uncle Tony had gotten into a fight with some Latino over a fucking feather some kind of bird had dropped while flying over the area, resulting in a riot, so massive, the police sent the SWAT team to gain back control over the prisoners. Any Milkovich was always a safe bet for chaos.

  
Now, somehow Manny was sniffling and sneezing to his hearts content and Mickey was tired.

  
He was lying on his back, trying to count how many different colors of mold were growing on the ceiling when the bunk bed ached desperately and a big, red head appeared from underneath him. José didn't need any words to show Mickey that he'd better watch his words if he wanted to avoid an ass whooping and the smaller boy raised his hands innocently.

  
“Relax, Princess and the Pea, like I could even wrap my hand around one of your sausage fingers.”

  
The giant furrowed his brows in confusion. Mickey sighed unnerved.

  
“Of course, you don't remember the Princess and the Pea. Seriously, it's like I told you all these fucking fairy tales for nothing. How are you gonna tell your daughters these stories, to make up for stabbing their mother, if you can't recall any of them? Use your noggin, Jesus.”

  
Josés face turned into a sad pout and Mickey rubbed his temples in order to make the pounding in his head go away. He knew what he had to do next and he didn't like it one bit. The big guy tapped his leg and stared at him pleadingly.

  
“You're killing me, man. Listen up, I'm telling you this story one more time. If you don't remember it after that I will not tell you again and I will slap you for wasting my time. We clear?” Instead of an answer, José climbed up the bunk ladder and sat down at the end of Mickeys bed. The rack wiggled and wobbled critically, but it seemed to endure the load it was carrying. Mickey closed his eyes, leaned against the cold, concrete wall and began to tell José all about the princess and the pea.

  
He was lucky his sister Mandy used to be obsessed with fairytales, so unwillingly he was kind of an expert of the matter.

  
Manny and Todd stopped what they were doing and lay down in their beds to listen to their cellmates tale. He was good at telling stories and he, not that he would have ever admitted it, liked doing it, especially for José.

“Damn, that was some good shit, man.“ Todd laughed when Mickeys story ended.

  
“You're really good with the different voices and everything.” The youngest man in the cell flipped him off and climbed down from the bed.

  
“Fuck off, Todd. This stays in this room, you got me?”

  
He went over to the little shelf between the two bunk beds and turned on the little Bunsen burner to heat up some water. It was around noon and he didn't feel like going to the Mensa so he decided to have some ramen noodles instead.

  
“I don't get why you even tell him all the bedtime stories and fairy tales. He won't get out in time for his kids to need them. Also, after what he did to their mother, they will never talk to him again.” Mickey whipped around and crouched down to where Todd was lying. He gripped his ridiculous looking goatee and pulled his head closer to his face.

  
“Hey, Todd. Why don't you shut the fuck up for a second, huh? Aside from the fact, that his daughters won't even remember that it was him, and that he will get out-” he shot a reassuring look to his bunk buddy “-do you really want to make him mad by telling him these things, when he could crush you with his pinky?”

  
The Russian ripped his head back and rubbed his chin gently, cursing at him in a language he did not know. It didn't matter, he'd gotten the message.

  
“I don't know what the fuck you're saying!” Mickey mumbled as he got back up and poured the boiling hot water over the instant noodles. While waiting for the meal to be ready he went over to José and lightly punched one of his massive legs.

  
“Don't gimme that face, man. We've been over this. They'll be happy to see you. You don't remember anything you see when you're like one year old. They'll love you, you'll see. Do you remember the story, now?” He nodded and scratched one of his tattooed arms.

  
Mickey took the bowl of noodle soup and handed it to José, who immediately started eating. The youngest man in the room then went over to prepare himself a bowl of soup and proceeded to eat it next to his silent friend.

A loud voice jerked him out of his sleep about 3 hours later, when Mateo, one of the guards, entered the room.

  
“Inmate Milkovich, you need to come with me.” José got up from his bed to stand in front of Mickey, protectively, but the smaller man placed a hand on his shoulder and pushed him down onto the bed.

  
“Relax, Hercules. I'll be right back.”

  
He followed Mateo to the bureau of the director to find him sitting behind his desk, eating Taco Bell.

  
“You're shitting me, right? What the fuck?” Director Rooney rolled his eyes in apathy and appreciatively swallowed the last bite of his taco.

  
“Milkovich. Enough with the cussing, or do you want me to write you a shot?” Mickey sighed and waited for Rooney to explain the reason for his visit. He hadn't been scared of shots since the second week of his imprisonment.

  
After he'd taken a sip of his soft drink and rigorously wiped his mouth, Rooney opened a file and pretended to read it.

  
“So, Milkovich, I see you've signed up for the CBS interviews. Why?” Mickey furrowed his brows theatrically and yawned.

  
“Why not?” The director shook his head at the uninspired answer and sorted through different papers.

  
“Well, actually, I'm glad you did. There are a few other candidates who wanted to contribute but I wanna keep the prisoners on a short leach and I don't think it's good for the morality of most of the inmates to boast about their crimes.

  
So I've picked you and inmate Bannister to talk to those TV people. Stuck-up idiots if you ask me. All of them. But whatever, it's good publicity for the prison. Shows the sponsors we're trying to get the inmates to engage with normal people or whatever. What fucking ever. I'm just here to read you the rules.”

  
Mickey didn't care about any of this. He had too much hatred in his heart for people who liked to hear themselves talk. And Rooney was exactly like that.

  
“So, rules are pretty much the same as normal visiting rules. No touching, no fighting, you'll be monitored the whole time. Capiche?” Mickey folded his arms in front of his chest and raised his eyebrows.

  
“That really why I needed to come here? Three fucking rules? Jesus Christ, man, you've got to have a lot of fucking free time if you call me in for that.”

  
Rooney premonitorily raised his finger and gazed at him over the edge of his ugly nerd glasses.

  
“Watch it, Milkovich. I'll scrape you right off that list if you keep it up like this. You can go now. MATEO?” The eager guard entered the room and lead Mickey back to his cell.

 

 

  
“I don't know if all this is a good idea!” Fionas voice was high pitched with worry and she was breathing heavily.

  
“I don't like the idea of you in prison. Even if it's just temporary. Can't somebody else go?”

  
Ian heard rattling of dishes and a baby crying in the background of Fiona’s phone call. It sounded like a typical morning in the Gallagher household.

  
“Relax, Fiona. I told you there's nothing to be worried about. I didn't even want to tell you about this.” Fiona sighed, then the crying got louder. She was whispering calming words towards the creaming toddler who now seemed to be on her arm.

  
“Well,” she said when Liam had calmed down. “why'd you call then?”

  
Ian had to think for a second to remember the reason for his phone call. Then it came back to him.

  
“I just wanted to know if I should come by after. I'll bring dinner.” Fiona exhaled and walked around the kitchen, fixing breakfast for her family.

  
“Yes, that sounds great, Ian. You're really saving my ass here, I didn't know what to cook for dinner, anyways.” Ian sighed. How many times had he offered to send her some money to pay the bills but Fiona had refused every time. She had an incredibly high amount of pride, something she definitely didn't get from either one of her parents.

  
“So, I'll come by around 7. How does Pizza sound?” Ian was packing his suitcase for his flight back to Chicago.

  
“Did you hear that, Liam? Ian's gonna bring Pizza tonight! Do we like Pizza?” He could hear the little one giggle and mumble something that probably meant yes.

  
“Well, I'll see you tonight then.”

  
He placed some boxers in his suitcase, then turned back to his dresser to find some warm sweaters for the cold Chicago spring.

  
“Okay, I gotta get the kids ready for school. I can't wait to see you, Ian. Be careful! Don't wear your good watch, alright?” Ian promised, then hung up the phone.

  
He was weirdly excited for someone who got up at 4 am to catch his flight at 8, to travel to Chicago to interview Illinois State Prisoners about the things they'd do to get locked up.

  
It was definitely something he'd never experienced before and Ian craved an adventure like Winnie Pooh craved Honey.

  
Ian bought Wifi on the plane and spend the four hours doing some changes to the script. The executives had liked what they'd written, but as always there were some things they wanted to be different. When he was done he sent the file back to Jeff, then closed his eyes to catch up on some sleep while he got closer and closer to his hometown.

 

  
“Sir, are you carrying anything that could be used as a weapon?” Ian shook his head and waited for the officer to stop groping his private parts. He would've never imagined a pat down to be this intense. Now he basically felt like he'd just gotten raped by a 5'3 ft tall man with an impressive mono brow.

  
When he was done, he locked his belongings into one of the visitor safes and went to the interrogation rooms carrying only his Dictaphone, officer mono brow right behind him, leading the way.

  
The room he would be spending the day in was about as big as a bathroom, furnished with only a table and two chairs and reeked of sweat and disappointment.

  
He sat there waiting for a while, until the director entered the room to welcome him back.

  
“Mr Gallagher, nice to see you again. I've chosen one of our prisoners who still has his visiting rights to talk to you today. A guard will bring him here, shortly. Good luck!” He faked one last smile, then left the room.

  
A few more minutes passed, then Ian could hear footsteps coming closer. The door opened and a guard entered the room, who introduced himself as Hector. One of his hands was gripped lightly around the arm of the prisoner that was standing behind him.

  
Hector opened one of the handcuffs around the prisoners wrists, wrapped the chain around the table leg and closed it back up. The dark haired man sat down across from him and shot him an amused look.

  
He was wearing a dirty beige jumpsuit that made his light skin seem almost see through and big black boots. His hands were cuffed around the table leg and Ian couldn't help but get a little bit intimidated by the strict safety measure. The dark-haired boy seemed to read his thoughts because he lifted his head, looked at Ian directly for the first time and chuckled.

  
“It's procedure. The cuffs aren't there because I'm known to be particularly violent.” He playfully raised one eyebrow and added: “well, at least, not more violent than any other dude that's locked up here, you know?”

  
He was waiting for Ian to say something, but it seemed like every word he'd ever known had left his brain and he was just sitting there staring at his opposite with a dumb look on his face.

  
“Ay, you mute or something? Isn't this supposed to be an interview?”

  
It wasn't fear or anything in that neighborhood that was holding Ians tongue. The guy was just -hot.

  
His haircut was similar to Ians, the sides shaved almost completely off, the hair on top a little longer. Only his was gelled back, which usually wasn't something Ian found attractive, but holy shit, he could pull that off.

  
He was sitting on the chair, casually leaned back, his legs spread wide open. Ian couldn't help but let his gaze linger on his crotch, imagining what the beige fabric was hiding underneath.

  
His hands were folded in his lap, clearly visible, the knuckle tattoos, spelling “Fuck u-up”, each letter covering one of his pale fingers. The jumpsuit he was wearing was loose on the legs and tight around his muscular chest and arms. It wasn't buttoned all the way up so the neckline revealed part of another tattoo, this one more precise and clearly tattooed, while the one on his hands looked homemade and older. He couldn't see it all the way, but it looked like the guy had two crossed guns tattooed on his chest.

  
Completing the Adonis that was his counterpart was a chavvy, slim golden necklace. He had to be around Ians age, maybe a little older.

  
“Nope, not mute. What's your name?” His opposite furrowed his brows and took a break from chewing on his nail to answer.

  
“It's Milkovich. Mickey Milkovich.” The last name seemed familiar to Ian but he couldn't make out where he knew it from.

  
“Mickey, like Mickey Mouse? That your real name?” The relaxed expressions on Mickeys face faded away instantly and yielded to make way for an annoyed glance.

  
“That's real comedic talent you got there, ginger man. Never heard that one before.” Ian shot him a crooked smile, but didn't go into his sarcastic comment.

  
“Thank you for meeting me, Mr. Milkovich. “

 

 

  
Up close, the redhead was even more delicious than all the way from the shower room window. His skin was almost as pale as Mickeys but covered with freckles. He had a nice face and everything, but what was making it hard for Mickey to concentrate were his tight pants open legs.

  
So much room for activities, if there hadn't been cuffs around his wrists and a fugly guard in the corner of the room digging up dirt from underneath his fingernails.

  
“I'm Ian Gallagher.” He said, smiling like the fucking sun from the teletubbies.

  
“Are you okay with me recording this conversation, so I don't have to write everything down?” Mickey shrugged and crossed his arms in front of his chest.

  
“Alright, sunny, what'd you wanna know?”


	3. three

Throughout the whole five and a half years that Mickey'd been imprisoned, he hadn't talked as much as in the few hours he was spending in the interrogation room with Ian Gallagher. When he wasn't telling José stories or talking to a gorgeous redhead, he wasn't much of a talker.

  
But with Ian the words came easily. He was telling him about the show and how it came about and that he himself, actually was from the South side of Chicago and Mickey didn't loose interest like he usually did when somebody talked about themselves.

  
“So I was doing the whole ROTC thing for about three years and I was working at a little grocery store to make some money for the family fund.” Mickey's face fell a little bit when he felt a quick presentiment but he banned the thought that there weren't too many grocery stores in their neighborhood, from his head and continued listening to what Gallagher was telling him.

  
“But then there was an incident and the store closed. Okay, this is gonna sound weird: I used my brothers social security number to enlist in the army after that and I abandoned my family for about a year until I realized that the army was a really shitty and potentially dangerous work place so I deserted and went back to school to become a writer.”

 Mickey shifted uncomfortably on his seat and must have forgotten to answer, because suddenly Ians countenance became amused. He tilted his head to the side and looked at his opposite.

  
“What? Am I boring you, Mr. Milkovich?” He tried to take a mental photograph of the smirk that was lurking on the redheads face to be able to beat off to it later, then raised his eyebrows.

  
“That's not it. That whole store story just seems a little familiar. Think I might be the one responsible for you losing your job.”

  
Ian frowned and it took him a couple of seconds to understand what he was getting at.

  
“Is that why you're in here?” He asked doubtfully. Mickey nibbled on his lower lip, trying to figure out if he was about to upset his interviewer.

  
The scales seemed to fall from Ians eyes when he realized what Mickey was implying.

  
“Holy shit. You're one of the people who robbed the Kash and Grab? Well, I was just about to ask you about why you were in here. So please: Spill!” Mickey deeply inhaled before telling his story. Selecting each word rather carefully to not scare the ginger away.

  
“Not much to tell. We needed some money, so we got the guns and robbed that Kash and Grab place because it was nearby.” He shrugged, avoiding Ians eyes.

  
“Well, that's not all, though, is it?” He was trying to hide the smile on his face.

  
“I mean, I seem to recall visiting Kash at the hospital. Why the diffidence, all of a sudden?” The mischief in his eyes sent shivers down Mickeys spine. They were playing a silent game, testing out the water, feeling each other up, only using their eyes.

  
Mickey was desperate to find out if he was misreading all the signs the redhead was sending his way, unable to be too obvious because of the guard standing in the corner. One of the guards knowing about his sexuality was about equally as bad as the prisoners knowing. The building was like a little village and nothing spread faster than rumors and news.

  
He laughed thinking back on the evening him and Iggy plotted the raid of the little store on main street.

  
They'd wanted to get on their dad's good side, maybe even make him proud a little bit, so they stayed up all night plotting and planning, cleaning their semi-automatic pistols, getting drunk and goading each other for the event that would happen the next day.  
“Well, shouldn't you know what happened, if you even went and visited the towel head in the hospital?” Ian smiled.

  
“I do know some of it, but I'm guessing Kash karate-chopping his attackers in the face and then getting shot while he was holding one of you in a headlock was overexagerated, was it not?” Mickey blinked a few times, trying to grasp what he'd just heard, then burst out laughing.

  
“The dude shit himself.” He said when he'd finally calmed down. “And I don't mean like, oh he was so fucking scared, I mean the dude literally shit himself.” His stomach hurt from laughing and when he looked up, he could see Ian smiling at him, with an expression that Mickey would've called 'fondly' if they hadn't just met an hour ago.

  
He then quickly began to tell the events as they really happened, to distract himself from blushing at the imposing stare.

  
He rambled on about Iggy and him spending hours trying to make their own ski masks to cover their faces, leaving out the part where they actually had to ask Mandy for help because they couldn't figure it out on their own.

  
He remembered it like it was yesterday. Their first robbery without their father leading them. The adrenaline that pumped through his body as they entered the store screaming at Kash to hand over all his money.

  
The thing was, it would've all gone smoothly if Mickey hadn't been the cocky son of a bitch he was. They'd already been outside of the store when he'd had the ingenious idea of going back inside to grab themselves some victory booze. By that time the Pakistani had finally managed to fumble out his gun and was pointing it at Mickey with trembling hands and a disgusting smell hovering through the inside of the store.

  
“I simply told him, you shoot me, I'll shoot you. Not my fault he was too fucking stupid to aim right.” Ian was leaning against the backrest of his chair, with his arms crossed, still with that little smirk on his face.

  
He didn't say anything, so Mickey kept talking.

  
“To be honest, I was gonna miss him by this much-” he made a gesture with his fingers to support his words.

  
“but the shot from his gun scared him so much he jerked to the side. So the bullet scraped the side of his head a little bit. Wasn't as dramatic as he made it out to be. I mean, we've all been shot right?” He looked around the room and found both the guard and Ian staring at him in disbelief, both shaking their heads resolutely. He shrugged.

  
“That's all it was. Me being my stupid self, I got him a towel for the blood and by the time I wanted to leave the store, police had shown up. Apparently he lived upstairs and his shitty wife called them when she heard gunfire. Who knew.”

  
Ian nodded staring at the wall behind Mickey as if he was remembering something.

  
“Yeah, he does live upstairs from the store. Fucking weird that place. Smells like goats.” Mickey furrowed his brows.

  
“How would you know?” He'd heard some rumors about the Pakistani being gay. Was it possible Ian had been fucking that ugly, old broad?

  
“Yeah, well. I was fucking him at the time.” Ian said bluntly. Mickeys jaw dropped.

  
“Jesus, man. Sugarcoat that, maybe? I don't even wanna think about that. Gross, dude!” The redhead looked at him in confusion.

  
“Really? I could've sworn you were g-”

  


  
Ian stopped himself before the word was out of his mouth. He had seen Mickey shooting a look to the guard behind him and shaking his head almost imperceptibly and it dawned on him that homosexuality maybe wasn't really one of the traits you paraded around in prison.

  
He carefully looked behind him, but the guard wasn't paying attention at all. He had gotten his phone out and was staring at it with so much concentration he probably wouldn't have heard a wrecking ball crashing through the concrete wall next to him. Mickey rolled his eyes at Ian and sat up a little bit. Ian decided it was probably a good time to end this interview for today. He raised his voice to get the prison guards attention.

  
“Well, thank you for your time, Mr. Milkovich. This has been very helpful.”

Mickey laughed at him despicably and got up when Ian did the same. Ian put his hand in his pocket and slid his card across the table. Mickey went to grab it and their fingers touched for a moment. He stretched out his index finger and let it trail over the thugs hand as he pulled it back.

  
The look they shared was intense and full of sexual energy. Mickey smirked as if he was realizing something, then Ian broke their connection by turning to the guard.

  
“Is Mr. Milkovich allowed to call me, if he remembers any more details that could be helpful.” The guard looked up and rolled his eyes.

  
“Sure, whatever. We'll get your number on his contact list. Sit down. I'll send someone to escort you back to your cell.” He nodded towards Mickey then held the door open for Ian to leave the room. Before he started walking, he turned around and playfully winked at the dark-haired man, mouthing “Call me!” as went out of sight.

  


  
He could already hear the noise coming out of the Gallagher house from when he walked around the corner and entered the street. Trying to balance 5 cartons of family-sized pizza was about as hard as it sounded and he was glad when he finally reached the the run down front porch of his home.

  
He kicked at the door and it flew open within seconds. Carl silently grabbed the pizza out of Ians hands and disappeared with it. Ian laughed and entered the home. Debbie was sitting on the couch, making out with some guy he had never seen before, Carl was in the kitchen hungrily opening up the different boxes and Fiona was setting the table. The only one taking notice of him was little Liam, his four year old brother, who ran towards him, hugging his legs.

  
Ian crouched down and picked him up.

“I'm ballin, you?” Ian looked at the little kid in disbelief and Fiona sighed as he entered the kitchen.

  
“Carl, if you teach him one more word like that, I swear I'll start whooping your ass. I don't care that your 17. I'll beat you!” She slapped grinning Carl lightly on the back of his head and put some paper plates in his hands to set on the table.

  
“Liam, you stop saying anything Carl teaches you, you hear me?” She tickled the little boy, then put him out of Ians hands and onto the floor.

  
“And you!” She hugged her brother until he couldn't breathe. “I missed you. How was prison?” She finally let Ian go and ruffled through his hair. He laughed.

  
“I don't have to tell  _you_  what prison is like. I think you know.” She flipped him off then they sat down at the dinner table.

  
“Debbie Gallagher, will you take a break from your tongue acrobatics and say hi to your brother? He brought you Pizza!”

  
After a few minutes Debbie entered the kitchen, her arms tightly locked around her boyfriends body. Ian looked at them in disgust.

  
“Gross, Debbs.” She rolled her eyes at her big brother.

  
“Shut up, Ian. Like you weren't the exact same way when you were my age.” He scoffed.

  
“Please, I never shit where I eat. I never was like that!” Debbie ignored him, grabbed one of the boxes and pulled her boyfriend upstairs.

  
“That's definitely not the same guy I saw last time I was here.” Ian said. Fiona shrugged.

  
“I don't know, I've lost track of all the guys she brings home. She's being safe, so I can't really say anything, you know? Plus, you were the exact same way when you were her age.” Ian gasped.

  
“Was not! Didn't you just hear me? I had one boyfriend until I was like 19.” Fiona raised her eyes at him and lowered her voice so Liam and Carl at the other end of the table couldn't hear her.

  
“You want me to suggest her to start fucking her married boss? Sorry, won't do that.” That shut Ian up, so he just stuffed a piece of Pizza in his mouth and listened to Carl rambling on about his obsession with fire arms.

  
When Carl and Liam were outside doing something in the yard and Fiona and him were just about to start cleaning up the kitchen, his phone rang. He didn't recognize the number, but he answered anyway. It happened quite often that his number was passed along in work related matters.

  
“An inmate of Metropolitan Correctional Center, Chicago, Illinois is trying to contact you. If you would like to answer the call, please press 1. If not press 2. If you have any further questions, contact the prison under the number -”

  
Ians heart started to beat faster as he realized who was calling him. He pressed the button, then waited until the call was connected.

  
“Whatever happened to waiting three days, to call someone?” He heard Mickey snort at the lame joke, and sat down on the front porch to get a little bit of privacy.

  
“Fuck off. You know, you almost blew my cover there, today.” Ian smiled.

  
“Oh, I'm sorry. That's so not what I wanted to blow in that room today.” He laughed at the other mans startled silence but Mickey only needed a few seconds to recover.

  
“Put your money where your mouth is, Gallagher.” Ian sighed.

  
“You know, I'd love to. Just seems a little uncomfortable with a guard in the room. Or are you kinky like that?” He could hear Mickey's laugh and felt stupid for feeling butterflies in his stomach.

  
“You comin' back any time soon?” His voice was lower now, almost timid. Ian sighed.

  
“Naw, not for a while. Gotta go back to LA and do some writing. I'll be back in a month or so.” There was silence at the other end of the line, then crackling.

  
“Manny, you poke me one more time, and I'll shove this telephone so far up your ass, the person on the other line will be able to hear your thoughts, you got me? I'll end this call when I wanna end it.” Ian laughed so hard he chortled and Mickey sighed exasperated.

  
“How many phone calls do you get?” He lit up a cigarette and took a drag.

  
“Don't know man. Like one every week or some shit. Ay, you smoking a cigarette right now? Fucking asshole. They're not allowed in here.” Ian inhaled audibly and blew the smoke in the fresh spring air.

  
“Well, call me sometime, Mickey Milkovich. By the way, I was wondering, what exactly is that tattoo on your chest? Just curious.” Not even Ian himself bought into that. He just really needed to know so he could picture it later when he was alone in his hotel room. Mickey seemed to see right through him. He laughed then paused.

  
“Oh, wouldn't you like to know, Gallagher?” The line clicked and Ian was left on the wooden stairs of his childhood home with a grin he couldn't seem to get off his face.

After a few minutes he got up and went back inside.

  
“V and Kev are coming over later. They're excited to see you. Who was on the phone? Something important?” Fiona was done with the kitchen and was now sitting on the couch with a bottle of vodka and a couple of cups next to it. Ian shook his head.

  
“Just a work call.” He flopped down next to her and filled the cups with the liquor. He couldn't help but wonder if Mickey could underhandedly get some liquor in prison and what he would say if he knew that Ian was drinking some of this liquid happiness right now.

  
“Why have you been smiling all evening? Did I miss something?” Fiona was eyeing him supsiciously.

  
Ian shrugged.

  
“Nothing, just happy to be home.” Fiona beamed and threw her arm around him.

  
“Well, I'm glad you're home. Here's to a real Gallagher party. You're staying here tonight, right?”

 


	4. four

“José, don't use so much toothpaste. You got like two teeth left and that shit's expensive at the store. You barely have any money in your account as it is.” Mickey took the tube of toothpaste out of the giant's hand and smeared some of the paste on José toothbrush onto his own.

  
“See, that's easily enough for two people.”

  
His friend nodded and they stood at the metal sink for a while, brushing their teeth in silence. He let his eyes wander around the cell, his thoughts drifting away and before he knew it, he was thinking of white, milky skin, hundreds of freckles and a smile so endearing, it made his skin crawl and his insides tingle. Jesus fucking Christ, he hadn't been able to get that redhead out of his head since he'd called him three weeks ago.

  
Everyday he caught himself hoping that he would come to visit, his heart beating faster every time one of the guards entered their cell, hoping he had shown up to guide him back to the run down, stinking interrogation room where he'd first met Ian Gallagher. He got jolted out of his thoughts, when José nudged him in the side, pointing towards his hand.

  
Mickey cursed when he looked down and saw that the mixture of spit and toothpaste from his mouth was dripping down and was now all over his arm. He wiped it away and ignored the questioning look José gave him.

  
He did not like what that Gallagher kid was doing to his head. It was nothing he'd ever experienced before because usually, Mickey liked to be in control of everything, and that included his emotions.

  
When he was done brushing his teeth and the guards had done their usual morning counting he lay down on his bed. Mickey had decided to skip the gym today because he was still sore from the day before when he'd stayed an extra hour to wear himself out so he would be tired enough to fall right asleep in the evening.

  
There had been too many nights of him lying awake, desperately horny, thinking about what he would do to that redheaded Adonis of a man if he had been there with him. In the end his well thought out plan didn't work because Manny was still carrying that cold and much to Mickeys dismay had infected Todd as well and the two of them had kept their cellmates up all night with a real concert of snoring, sneezing and coughing.

  
So yet again Mickey was trying to catch up on some sleep while the others were at breakfast. He had just shut his eyes, when somebody shoved him.

  
“Milkovich. Wake up. You've got mail.” Hector was looking nosy as always and lingered around after Mickey took the heavy letter out of his hands. He looked at him with as much annoyance as he could come up with and raised his eyebrows.

  
“The fuck are you still doing here, Hector? Like you didn't read that letter already?” The guard rolled his eyes and headed for the door.

  
“By the way, I didn't read the mail. The secretaries do that kind of shit. Was surprised that you got something. In all those years you've been here, I don't think I've ever delivered you a single letter. What changed?” Mickey couldn't believe the guy.

  
“Good questions, Hector. Why don't you come back here, let's say around fuck off o'clock, and we'll drink some coffee have some cake and just talk it out, huh? How's that sound? No, don't leave, we haven't discussed what we're gonna wear yet.”

  
He shook his head, and when he was sure that the guard was gone, he hopped onto his bed, turned his back to the door and examined the letter he had just received.

  
There was no sender on there, just his own name and the address of the prison, but he had a pretty good idea who had sent this to him.

  
Since there was no way anybody in his family had sent him anything, there was only one more person left.

  
Ians handwriting was unusually neat for a guy, very cursive and small. There were about thirty pages of printed text held together by a rubber band and one smaller sheet, similar to a notepad with a little message on it.

  
He put the script to the side and concentrated on the little note.

  
“ _Mick, this is the script we've written about what you told me about the last time I came around to see you. Please read it, tell me how you like it and if there's anything you want me to do to it._ ”

  
There was a little arrow on the bottom, pointing to the backside of the paper. Mickey turned it around and had to screw up his eyes to read the now tiny font.

  
“ _also, feel free to tell me how you like_  it  _and if there's anything you want me to do to you. ;)_ ”

Mickey got scared for a second, remembering that every letter sent to the prison was opened and checked first, then laughed when he saw, how Ian had signed his little note.

  
“ _I look forward to seeing you soon, Lianne._ ”

  
“Fucking idiot!” Mickey mumbled and stuffed the note into his pillowcase. He grabbed the script and removed the rubber band to read it.

  
The story was basically the same as he had told Ian, leaving out only the Kash shitting himself-incident and Mickey getting caught right after shooting the guy. They had given all the characters different names and changed the street names and everything.

  
Mickey liked the script a lot. They'd written his character like a poor misunderstood boy who was trying to get some money to take care of his family, which made him actually quite likeable for a armed robber. The guy was nothing like the stupid piece of shit Mickey actually was.

  
On the last page there was a spreadsheet where all the characters where described individually, probably to help the casting process.

  
Mickey's character “Goofy”, which in his opinion really was the lamest joke of the century, was on top of the page.

  
“ _Goofy M, is your typical neighborhood thug with a heart of gold. He is medium sized and muscular, not in a “going to the gym everyday” kind of way, but in more of a “has been working, lifting heavy things, been physically active his whole life” kind of way. He has a bunch of homemade tattoos, maybe a black eye or a few scars, etc._ ”

  
He took his time and read the script one more time, then he hid it underneath his scruffy blanket and made his way to the telephones.

  
It took three rings for Ian to pick up. He sounded sleepy.

  
“You know I was just thinking about you, Mickey Milkovich.” Mickey smiled.

  
“Oh really? Were you trying to unsuccessfully rob a store and looking for some inspiration?” Ian chuckled then yawned extensively.

  
“No, I'm in bed actually.”  
He paused and gave Mickey a few seconds to take his words in. He rubbed the bridge of his nose trying to get the image out of his head. This not the time and place for thinking about the redhead in bed.

  
“Fucking tease.” Ian laughed freely.

  
“So to what do I owe the pleasure huh?” Mickey chewed on his lip.

  
“Read your script. Nice job, Lianne.” He heard the redhead laugh and he tried to ignore the tingling in his stomach. Ian didn't answer right away.

  
“Really? Well, details please. Anything you wanna change? What parts did you like?” He was getting really excited and Mickey was getting overpowered. He wasn't very intellectual and he feared he would say something stupid if he went more into detail with his opinion.

  
“Well, I'm not gonna write you a fucking book analysis, Jesus. I just said I liked it.” He cursed himself for being such a boor but he couldn't help himself sometimes.

  
“Look, I think you did a good job writing. Gonna be a good episode, alright? I did like your personal message a little better, actually.” He couldn't help but smile, thinking about it.

  
“Oh I bet you did. Got any insights for me on that one?” Mickey laughed roguishly.

  
“Definitely got some things in mind. Nothing I could tell you over the phone, though. When are you coming here next?” He heard Ian sigh mysteriously.

  
“Oh, come on, Mickey. Gimme something to look forward to. I'm all alone here in my bed, you know. I don't have to be at work for a couple of hours. I got some time to kill.” Mickey sighed frustratedly at the thought, but then pulled himself together.

  
“No fucking way. I can't do this here, you piece of shit. You're killing me, man.” Ian giggled then yawned again.

  
“Fine, guess I'll just have to get creative then. Thanks for the call, Goofy.” Mickey rolled his eyes.

  
“Ay, hold on. You haven't answered my question. When's the next time you're coming by?” Mickey shot a threatening look, when an inmate walked up to him and pointed at the phone questioningly.

  
“Oh, let's just say I'll see you soon.”

  
Mickey wanted say something else, make him specify his answer, but the redhead had already hung up the phone. Mickey dropped the speaker and rested his head on the cold wall to calm himself down.

  
“Fucking tease!” He shouted as he walked back to his cell, sexual frustration wallowing inside him. The guy that picked up the phone after him, gave him an understanding look.

  
“Women, huh?” Mickey considered for a second to beat the joker up, just to get some release, but he went with the more reasonable solution, scoffed and faked a smile.

  
“Yeah, you said it.”

 

 

Ian was nervous, to say the least. He at a hotel room in Chicago again, getting ready to head to the prison, standing in front of the small minibar fridge.

  
He had kind of felt like a dick after his conversation with Mickey two days ago and he wanted to make up for it. He'd thought long and hard about what Mickey would like and what was within his own range of possibilities and then he'd seen the two disposable coffee cups in the little kitchen area of his room and the beers in the fridge.

  
Clearly it was risky and forbidden to try to smuggle alcohol into the facility, but it was also the only thing he could think off that was highly likely to delight the thug.

  
After a few minutes of studying the pros and cons he made an effort and filled the beer into the paper cups. He had no clue if he was even allowed to bring any liquids into the building but he told himself it was worth a try.

  
He banned the worries about the consequences if he were to get caught from his head , put the lids on and headed for the door.

  
He asked his taxi driver to make on more stop on the way, so they halted at a local coffee shop and Ian picked up two cappuccinos to give to the guard and the secretary.

  
His heart was pounding like crazy when he entered the building and nodded at the woman behind the front desk.

  
He took one last deep breath, then walked over and put on his most gorgeous and endearing smile.

  
“Hello there, how are you doing today?” The chubby, middle-aged woman blushed and beamed at the attention and looked up from her computer.

  
“I brought coffee. Would you like one?” She nodded, delighted by the offer and Ian, careful not to accidentally hand her the wrong cup, gave her the hot drink.

  
“I'd like to visit Mr. Milkovich, for the CBS Interviews, please?” He said when the woman didn't offer any assistance.

  
“Oh, of course, dear. Sorry. Hold on, let me get someone to guide you there.”

  
She disappeared through a door behind her and returned seconds later, accompanied by a female guard. Ian closed his eyes for a second shooting a quick prayer to heaven for his unusual luck today, then approached the lady.

  
“Hi, I'm Ian.” He smiled at her and she took the hand he was offering.

  
“Oh, hi I'm Clara. Good to meet you.” She held his hand a little longer than needed and Ian saw his chance.

  
“Hey, I bought some coffee earlier, would you like one?” She smiled at him, blushing, clearly liking the attention Ian was giving her.

  
They chatted for a while until they got to the room where the lockers were.

  
Ian had bent over backwards, made small talks and jokes to distract the young woman. Now they stopped and Ian took his jacket and beanie off.

  
Knowing the guards gaze was resting on him, he also took off his hoody, making sure his shirt lifted a little bit as he pulled the sweater over his head.

  
“Alright, I have to ask this, you know, protocol and stuff.” She smiled at him flirtatiously, playing with a string of her hair.

  
“Ready? Are you carrying anything that could be used as a weapon?” Ian shook his head.

  
“Didn't think so. Sorry I just have to ask these questions. What are you bringing inside the room with you?”

  
He pointed a finger to the Dictaphone in his hand. She smiled approvingly and clapped her hands together once.

  
“Alright, then I think we're ready to go. Mr Milkovich is already waiting in the interrogation room.” Ians heart started beating faster when he went and picked up the cardboard palette that was holding the two beers/coffees.

  
The guards eyes stopped at the cups in his hand when she turned around to check if Ian was following her out the door.

  
“Oh, you're bringing those, too? That's fine I just have to get a spoon and stir around in there a couple times. Just to make sure nothing's hidden in there, you know?”

  
She smiled apologetically and Ians heart pelt into his throat. He felt a drop of sweat trailing down his nape as he feverishly tried to come up with an excuse. Finally, he decided to give the flirting another try, since it had worked greatly so far.

  
He reached out his arm, gently took one of the loose strands of hair on Claras head between his fingers and put it behind her ear. Her red cheeks instantly turned a shade darker.

  
“Is that necessary? I mean, I totally understand why you have to do that, but by the time we get there the coffee will be cold.” He gave her another charming smile, then she finally shrugged.

  
“You're right. Just promise me you didn't hide anything in there. And don't rat me out.” Ian winked at her and she turned around and finally guided him into the room.

  
Mickey was sitting in his chair, looking drop-dead gorgeous as ever, hands crossed over his chest smirking at him when he entered the room.

  
Clara greeted the guard that had been waiting with Mickey.

  
“You can totally go take your break now, Larry. I'll stay here, I don't mind.” Mickey furrowed his brows at the lovestruck look that she gave Ian, then Larry left the room

  
Ian sat down and slid one of the cups towards Mickey.

  
“Don't like coffee. Give it to your girlfriend.” Ian rolled his eyes at the weird comment then gave the cup another shove towards the thug. He hadn't come this far just for Mickey to blow his cover now so close to the finish line.

  
“I already gave her one!” He smiled at Clara who had, unlike the other guide last time, chosen to stand somewhere behind Mickey her look resting on Ian.

  
“Now drink!” His opposite rolled his eyes and took the cup in his hand. When he made no move to take a sip, Ian sighed and pressed play on his Dictaphone.

  
“Alright, then. Mr Milkovich. What story do you have for me today?” Right as he started talking, Mickey

  
raised the drink to his mouth and took a gulp.

  
When he realized what was in his mouth, his eyes got wide and he choked from the astonishment. In the corner of his eye, he saw Clara frowning at the inmates behavior. Ians inner alarms went off again and he acted quickly.

  
“Oh no, did I forget the sugar? Shit. Clara you think we could get some sugar from somewhere?” She jumped when she heard her name, then nodded.

  
“Yes of course. Just don't escape or anything while I'm gone, okay?” Ian faked a giant smile and she almost tripped over her own feet on the way to the door.

  
“Are you fucking kidding me? Is this what I think it is?” Mickey was still staring at him with wide eyes and an open mouth.

  
“Brought you a present.” Ian said and winked at the older boy. Mickey shook his head in disbelief, then raised the cup to his mouth and finished the whole thing in a series of big gulps. When he was done he burped loudly and looked at Ian as fondly as never before.

  
“Shit, I missed beer. How the fuck did you even get this in here?” He asked, opening the lid to get the last drop of his drink.

  
“I don’t know if you knew, I mean I didn't even know until today, but apparently I have a strong impact on women. Like, I'm really good with pretending to like women. Might have to ask her for her number later, just to be sure, though.”

  
Mickey laughed and shook his head. He put his empty cup back on the table and closed his eyes, enjoying the taste in his mouth.

  
“Yeah, great. Like you needed another boost for your giant ego, ginger man. Shit, I wish I could have another one.”

  
Before Ian could say anything, Clara came back into the room holding a few packs of sugar. She handed them to Ian and went back to the back of the room.

  
While Mickey started to tell him about a run he had done with his dad sometime, Ian took his own “coffee” and pushed it towards Mickey. He forrowed his brows and took another sip. The look he gave him, when he realized that there was more beer in there was priceless, then he kept talking, while Ian poured sugar into the empty cup.


	5. five

Mickey and José were in the gym, like every day, waiting in line for some of the workout machines to become available. There was always an endless queue of men because the prison was overcrowded, there were no other activities offered and the gym was stocked with way too few appliances. The studio could only be used by about 20 men at a time, but Mickey and José were next in the line.

  
The room was about as big as a locker room, but it smelled a whole lot worse.

  
After about twenty minutes, the guard sent the men to the showers and waved the next bunch of prisoners in. Right as they were about to step through the door, a small, muscular inmate cut the line and squeezed himself through the entrance.

  
“Oh, hell no.” Mickey exclaimed, immediately worried about his choice of words. Gallagher had really brought out the gay in him.

  
Mickey grabbed the little hispanic guy by his collar and ripped him back.

  
“What the fuck do you think you're doing, huh? You wait in line like everybody else, fuckhead.” He boxed himself free, trying to take a swing at Mickey, but José was already standing in front of him, being the protective, gentle giant he was, holding the guy in a headlock until the guard at the opposite side of the room could take care of the situation.

  
The guy was screaming and cursing in spanish.

  
“Estás muerto, amigo. MUERTO. Espera a que te coja sólo!!” Mickey rolled his eyes. There was nothing more he wanted, than give the guy a good old fashioned beat down, but he wasn't keen on extending his prison time, so he took a deep and stayed where he was . That didn't keep him from using his mouth though, like he usually did.

  
“I don't know what the fuck you're saying, amigo. Go home to your ugly-ass mamacita, and eat some fucking paella, bitch!” Finally Hector had made his way over to them.

  
“Alright, relax. All of you. There's plenty of room for everybody to work out. Ramirez, that's your last warning! You misbehave one more time and I'm gonna have to place you in solitary confinement. Understood? And Milkovich, think of some better insults, that one was shitty, man.” Ramirez shrugged and went over to the shelf of weights, Mickey flipped Hector, the guard off.

  
Hector nodded at him and rolled his eyes.

  
“That dude got some mental issues. Got convicted because he killed his uncle with a ninja sword. A fucking ninja sword, can you believe it?” He laughed with Mickey and José, then they went on with their normal routine.

  
Still something seemed was weird in that gym. Mickey felt like there was just bad vibes floating around in the air and he couldn't shake the feeling something was coming. He just didn't know what it was, yet. José seemed to feel the same way, he let his eyes wander around the room carefully and kept switching his weight from one foot to the other, while he was spotting for Mickey who was bench pressing some weights.

  
“Ay, Goliath, you mind keeping your eyes on me to check if I'm suffocating or not, like you're supposed to do, huh?” José grunted approvingly and glued his eyes to his cellmate.

  
When Mickey was done he tried to stand up, but his feet got tangled up in the stilt of the bench and he fell down, landing on all fours.

  
Cursing heavily, he tried to get up, when he saw Josés look become horrified and felt a hot, stinging pain in his left ass cheek.

  
“WHAT THE FUCK?” He turned his head only to see José tackling a winningly smiling Ramirez, before he lost consciousness.

It was that time of the week again and Ian was entering Chicago State Prison to visit his favorite inmate.

  
When the lady at the counter saw him coming through the door, she smiled apologetically.

  
“Mr. Gallagher. Didn't anybody call you?” He shook his head, waiting for an explanation.

  
“Mr. Milkovich is currently not in the building. He was attacked yesterday and is being treated at Northwestern Memorial Hospital.” Ians heart dived.

  
“What the fuck do you mean he was attacked? What happened? Is he alright?” The lady looked at him with a mixture of sorrow and wonder.

  
“I'm sorry, Mr. Gallagher. Since your not a member of Mr. Milkoviches family I am not entitled to give you any more information about the matter.

  
Ian ran his hand through his hair, trying to collect his thoughts. He took a deep breath, then put a fake smile on his face.

  
“I understand. I'm sorry I lashed out on you. Have a great day.”

  
He jumped into his rental car, mumbling all kinds of curses at the Chicago State Prison Staff for not paying attention and doing their duty of guarding their prisoners and drove over to the nearby hospital.

  
The receptionist in the lobby greeted him with a friendly smile.

  
“Hello, welcome to Northwestern Memorial Hospital. What can I do for you, Sir?” It took Ian a few seconds to catch his breath since he'd been running all the way from the parking garage, but he finally managed to get out the question he was dying to ask.

  
“I'm here to visit Mr. Milkovich. The prison inmate that has been here since yesterday. Would you tell me where his room is?” The blonde typed a few things into her computer.

  
“I'm sorry. He's not allowed to have any visitors. He's still a criminal and there's a police man guarding his room door. I am not allowed to tell you where that is.” Ian shook his head.

  
“Oh calm the fuck down. You don't even know him, he's not a criminal.” Unable to hear another stupid excuse why he couldn't see if Mickey was alright, he left the lobby and entered the elevator. Thankfully there was a poster inside that listed all the different wings and departments in the building. He could rule out a few of them, like the Birthstations, and stuff, but that left him with about seven floor to sort through in order to find Mickey.

  
While he hurried through the different floors to find the room with a policeman standing in front of, his head went into psycho mode, imagining everything that could have happened to his favorite thug. Suddenly he was able to remember every last prison movie he'd ever seen and they all flashed through his head. He couldn't stop himself from seeing stabbings with a fork, razorblades and broken off toothbrushes in his mind.

  
Finally after about 15 minutes of jogging through the hospital, he saw a balding, fat policeman sitting in front of a door, sleeping with his head sunk on his multiple double chins.

  
Ian slowed down, wiped the sweat off his face and stood to attention. When he reached the fat guy, he kicked against one of the chair legs and he jerked awake, letting out a small burp. Ian looked at him in disgust, then pointed towards the door.

  
“Sir, I need to get through there. Please move your chair. “ The policeman stood up and crossed his arms before his large chest.

  
“Sorry, Sir. No one allowed in. This is a prisoner of the Metropolitan Correctional Center Chicago.” Ian rolled his eyes. He took a minute to breath, to prevent himself from hitting the stupid guy right in his oily face then grabbed his phone from his back pocket.

  
“Listen up, Sir. I was sent here from the CBS headquarters and I have a contract with your precious prison that allows me to come visit this inmate in order to interview him for a project. If you want to deny me the right to see mr. Milkovich it will take one call to the CBS lawyers, who are very expensive and very good at what they do, by the way, and well sue the shit out of your prison for breaking our contract. Now will you let me inside or not?”

  
Ian himself was a little startled by what he'd just come up with. He was pretty sure that all that wasn't even remotely true and to be honest, he'd never even seen one of those lawyers but it seemed to do the trick because the guy turned about four shades of red darker and stepped out of the way.

  
“Well, I had no idea. I'm very sorry. Please enter, Sir!” Ian nodded at him and closed the door behind him.

  
He could hear Mickeys stifled laugh, from behind some curtains.

  
“Damn, Gallagher. Love it, when you get all furious housewife.” He went over to where the voice was coming from and opened the curtain.

  
“Mick, what the fuck happened to you, huh? Are you oka-” He stopped when he got sight of the thug and burst out laughing.

  
Mickey growled and threw a pillow at him.

  
“Shut the fuck up, asswipe. There's nothing funny here.” Ian definitely disagreed. He had tears streaming down his face as he watched Mickey lying there.

  
He was on his front, not his back, only wearing the typical hospital night gowns, a huge bandage around his ass.

  
He finally pulled himself together, when Mickey went over to throwing things from his food trey at him. He sat down next to the end of the bed, at the level of the thugs face.

  
“What happened?” He asked as he stood back up to look at the bandages up close. He felt worry and anger boil up in his stomach when he saw the dark purple bruises shining through the the white mull.

  
“Well, what the fuck does it look like, Gallagher? That Ramirez fucker stole a gun from the stupid-ass guard and shot me in the ass when I was on all fours. Fucking Spanish motherfucker.” Ian went to the back of the room to pick up the pillow Mickey had thrown at him, shoving it underneath his chin to make him more comfortable.

  
“Thanks. And you know why that joker did it? Because I called his fucking girl ugly. Fucking mental, that one. Anyways, I guess he's in an only cell now. Probably'll get some more years packed onto his sentence. Fine by me. Fucking hurts like shit getting shot in the ass. That's the second time that's happened. I've been lying on my front for like two days.”

 Mickey rubbed his temples and Ian chuckled.

  
“Here I was thinking you like lying on your front.” He shot the other guy a provocative smile but he just rolled his eyes.

  
“Not if someone's cutting a bullet out of my ass cheek.” He made a little pause and the corners of his mouth twitched upwards.

  
“If my ass wasn't hurting like someone was constantly pouring hot lava all over it, I would be very happy that I'm lying face down right now.” He laughed a little then his eyes started to flutter.

  
“Gimme, like, a few minutes. It's fucking hard to stay awake with all these painkillers.” Ian felt all mushy and soft when he looked at Mickey sleeping. He knew he had liked the loud, bad ass version of Mickey that he'd experienced over the past few weeks, but he liked this calm, soft Mickey even better. When he was sure that he was asleep, Ian reached out a hand to stroke a few strands of dark hair out of his face. His skin was hot and sweaty, feverish, almost, but also soft and Ian couldn't help but think that he wanted to touch him more often, stroke his scarred, pretty little face.

  
Mickey awoke about 20 minutes later and Ian was still sitting by his side, taking the rare chance of looking at him without being told off for staring.

  
He was still half asleep, his eyes puffy and he just closed them again and grabbed Ians hand that was lying beside his head. Ian raised his eyebrows in surprise but squeezed his hand lightly.

  
“Mickey, you're holding my hand?!” He would have never thought the thug would be into that kind of thing. Mickey sighed, his eyes still closed.

  
“Shut the fuck up, Gallagher. You don't have to narrate everything.”

  
Ian smiled fondly and ran his thumb over Mickeys hand, painting invisible patterns onto the rough skin.

  
Mickey raised his head, opened his eyes and withdrew his hand.

  
“Come on, Ian. No!” Ian raised his hands in defense, oblivious to what he could have done.

  
“You just make it weird. You know, with the stroking and shit.” Ian laughed Mickey eventually joined in. letting the redhead push his head back onto the pillow.

  
“Shut the fuck up and go to sleep, Mick.” He said as he went back to holding his hand.

  
\---  
A few days later Ian was in his hotel room, sitting on his bed with a laptop in his lap staring at the script for the third episode that his team had just mailed him to proof-read, when his phone rang. His heart rate sped up when he recognized the familiar number and picked up the phone.

  
“Hello there, my precious little cheesecake. How are we doing today?” He heard Mickey sigh at the other end of the line and he would have bet a good amount of money that he was rolling his eyes like he always did when Ian was in a particularly silly mood. There was a little pause.

  
“Get it? 'Cause your skin is as light as a cheesecake?” He giggled goofily.

  
“No, Gallagher. Stop that shit. Worst joke ever!” Mickey couldn't help but let out a little laugh himself, hearing the gingers voice just always seemed to lighten his mood. Especially now that he was back in prison, walking on crutches.

  
“How's your ass doing?” Mickey laughed.

  
“Will you stop thinking about my ass for one minute. I wanna tell you something.” Ian purred.

  
“But it's my favorite thing to do! Can't wait till it's all healed and ready to go.”

He felt a warm feeling in his stomach when he heard Mickeys laughing. And not his usual sarcastic grin but his real laugh, which was music to Ian's ears.

  
“So what's up?” Ian furrowed his brows when the thug didn't answer immediately. When he was just about sure that there were some problems with the telephone connection, Mickey harrumphed awkwardly.

  
“So, I got some news today.” Ian sat there, waiting for Mickey to spit the words out.

  
“I'm getting released early.” Ian stood up so fast his laptop fell onto the bed.

  
“What? When?” He could almost feel Mickeys reliefed smile through the phone.

  
“Next week.” Ian had to lay on the floor and count to ten to not burst with excitement. He failed.

  
“WHAT? HOLY SHIT. Congrats, man. That's awesome. Are you SO EXCITED?” He basically screamed into his smart phone.

  
“STOP YELLING INTO MY EAR, GALLAGHER. Jesus. My probation skank said I gotta find me a job, though. Think you could make that whole criminal consultant shit official? Like make it a real job.”

  
Ian couldn't believe what he was hearing. Being the over thinker he was, since he'd met Mickey and grown to like him he had spend a lot of time thinking about what would happen when he got out. Fearing that he wouldn't want to see him anymore. That he had just been a way to kill time in prison. Convincing Jeff to hire Mickey would be a piece of cake. He would have done anything to help the show.

“Hello? Gallagher?” Ian was so lost in his thoughts, already planning everything, that he forgot he was still on the phone.

  
“What? Oh, sorry. Yes, of course. I'll call him right after this. Are you even allowed to leave the state? Isn't that like a probation law or something?” He could hear Mickeys relieved sigh.

  
“Alright, cool. No, the chick said, if it's for work I can go live there.” Ian beamed.

  
“Okay. So I'll call them now and I'll tell you what he said next time you call. Bye.” Mickey laughed.

  
“Alright, Twilight. See ya.” Ian stopped from pacing around in his room.

  
“Huh, Twilight?” Mickey sighed.

  
“You know. Your skin is pale, white, and ice cold or some shit, right? Get it? Cause your skin is white as a sheet of paper. Think you're the only one who can make stupid fucking jokes?” Ian burst out laughing.

  
“You watched twilight and you remembered the words?” He couldn't contain himself and he could practically hear Mickey getting pissed off.

  
“Fuck off. Mandy made me.” And with that, he hung up the phone.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anybody else shipping Mickey and José (or Mosé as I like to call them..)? :D  
> thank you for reading, lovelies! ♥


	6. six

Ian had it all planned out. He had made sure Jeff hired Mickey as a writing consultant, he had cleaned his condo and made up the guest bed, even though he was really hoping that there would be no use for an extra bed. But you never knew. He wanted to be prepared, just in case. He had bought the plane tickets, first class, because the company was paying for their flights and he'd bought three cases of different types of beer because he didn't know which one exactly Mickey would like. He'd gotten a bunch of different brands of cigarettes, too. While he had never had any real confirmation as to whether Mickey actually smoked or not, he was pretty sure he did. Not to be judging by stereotypes, but no, he definitely looked like a smoker.

  
He hadn't heard from the soon to be ex-con, which made him a little nervous, but he chose to ignore it and just bury himself in preparations and work. It was all nice and healthy until Ian found himself at a food store, contemplating which soap he would prefer.

  
“Do you think he even uses soap?” Kelly was critically eying the choices of avocado mint and peaches in Ians freckled hands. He shook his head, disappointed by his choice of shopping assistance. He should have picked Lance, unbelievably gay and unbelievably good at all things interior design and decor.

  
“Are you fucking kidding me, Kelly? Who doesn't use soap?”

The petite woman innocently shrugged and pushed the shopping kart over to the make up section.

  
“You're such a great help. Can't wait for the next time we go to the store together.” The girl wasn't paying attention anymore, she was drowning in primers, makeup and lipsticks, numb to anything else going on around her.

  
Ian sighed and summarily decided to just buy both and casually put all of them next to the sink. Why was he even being such a baby about all of this. Like Mickey would even remotely care about all the things that were giving Ian headaches during preparation. He kept on browsing through the shampoo aisle until Kelly came back, her cart about halfway full now.

  
“Why does the dude even have to stay at your place? It's not like the company couldn't afford to have him stay at a hotel until he finds himself an apartment.” Ians ears turned red as tried to come up with an explanation.

  
“Well, if you just came out of prison, would you like to come to a anonymous hotel room that basically is like prison or would you like to come home to a beautifully furnished condo with a jacuzzi in the backyard?” His telephone rang and he quickly pulled it out of his pocket, hoping to see a familiar number on the screen.

  
“Alright, hold up. A fancy hotel room with minibar and room service, how is that even remotely like a prison cell, huh? Explain!” Ian, saved by the bell, waved her off and took a few steps back as he accepted the call coming in.

  
Unfortunately, it was Lance, complaining that he hadn't been asked to go shopping with the gang. Ian kept the call short and sweet, rambling on about how he didn't wanna bother him and that his opinion would always count the most out of all the advice he was given. Bullshit, of course, but it seemed to shut his colleague up.

  
Kelly was squinting at him as he returned to where she was standing, after he'd ended the call by agreeing to go shopping with Lance 'asap' as he had phrased it.

  
“What?” Ian asked defensively when he recognized the girls evil stare.

  
“You only want him to live with you for the first couple of days, so he tells you all the good stories. J'accuse, Ian Gallagher. J'accuse!”

The redhead rolled his eyes and pushed her towards the next aisle.

  
“I hope he's hot. I haven't had a good old hump day in forever. You saw him, right? How's he look?” Ian ground his teeth, trying not to get possessive over someone who wasn't even his . Yet, at least.

  
“You're gonna have to see for yourself once he comes to LA. He's got a bunch of tattoos, though. Fuck u-up spelled on his knuckles and two guns on his chest.” He spat the words out, trying to sound like those tattoos weren't keeping him awake at night, making him wonder if there were any more on his body and if so, where? Kelly furrowed her brows and crinkled her perfectly straight nose.

  
“Oh, well. I'm usually not the bad boy type of girl, but Ian, honestly, I'm getting pretty desperate. I've even contemplated asking you for a mercy fuck.” Ian almost choked on his own spit. That girl sure took some time to get used to. Brutally honest would have been an understatement. He laughed and put an arm around her.

  
“I can't do that because I'm your boss and that would count as Sexual Harassment. But I might take that risk, if you tell me you got a dick hidden somewhere under those beautiful, wide dresses you always wear.” Kelly laughed.

  
“Sorry to disappoint. There's no tube steak under this fabric.” She took the end of her long skirt into her hands and spun around to show off her outfit.

  
Ian sighed, pretending to be upset about it.

  
“In that case I'm afraid that we can never be an item, my love.”

  
After getting a shitload of other things Ian didn't necessarily need but wanted to have, just in case, they left the store and Ian dropped Kelly off, before driving back home.

  


  
It had all happened so fast. A guard had come to get him and had brought him to the director's office who with a frown on his face had told him that the prison was overcrowded and that he was getting out because of his extraordinarily good behavior.

  
Now he was sitting in his cell packing the few things he had, a bunch of letters from Mandy, the one from Ian and some other crap he had hidden in his pillowcase, with Manny and Todd staring at him. Partly because they were jealous, for obvious reasons, partly because they were happy for their cellmate and friend.

  
“At least one of us gets to leave this shithole.” Manny had said when Mickey had come back from the directors office, his skin ashy and his fingers trembling. José was out and about somewhere, probably working out and Mickey was anxious to tell him the good news. One of the reasons, the time in prison had been bearable was because from the first day on they had been like two peas in a pot. Always hanging around each other, enjoying each others rather silent natures, apart from the whole murder and robbery things, and he was worried that José would not take his departure very well.

  
The other thing on his mind was, that he should have probably called Gallagher again, to give him further information about when exactly he was getting out, for some reason he wanted to be mysterious about the whole thing, so he had called his sister Mandy to come get him instead. He had not told her, that he would be leaving for Los Angeles in the near future. Another conversation he wasn't very looking forward to. Mandy and him had always been relatively close, especially by Milkovich standards and she would not be happy with him leaving her again so soon.

  
Anyways, there was another thing he had to take care of before even thinking about Mandy and that thing was 6''4 foot tall and 300lbs heavy and was just walking through the door. Manny and Todd sat down on the bottom bunk as if they were attending a special show, but Mickey wasn't having any of it.

  
“Get the fuck outta here, now!”

  
Strangely, Mickey had always had a talent for being the smallest, youngest person and still being able to boss around everyone he wanted to. It was a gift, that had proven very useful in his past 25 years of life. The two guys left the cell with some disappointed murmuring, then they were alone in the room. José next to the door, a confused look on his face when he saw Mickeys empty bed and pile of personal things on the counter, Mickey leaning against the wall, supporting himself on his crutches.

  
“Don't give me that look, you giant puppy. Sit down, we gotta talk. I'm getting released tomorrow.”

Josés face didn't really show any motion but he clenched his fists and started breathing heavier than usual. He seemed to be in relatively good spirits because he still managed to stay calm and help Mickey sit down, taking his crutches and leaning them against the bedpost. Mickey slowly let his butt sink on to the mattress and felt like somebody had shot him again.

  
“HOLY FUCKING SHITBALLS. WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?”

He rubbed his ass cheek, wincing with pain. José grasped underneath him and pulled out a Rubik's Cube. He let out a deep breathy laugh and after some deadly glares on Mickeys part, he joined in, gently sitting back down again.

  
After that it was silent for a while both men not knowing what to say or how to act. Mickey wasn't very connected to his feelings, as the prison psycho skank had diagnosed, but he still worried about José so he had to just get over himself and talk to the guy.

  
A task, easier said than done. He went through some scenarios and possibilities of what he could say, but it was José who talked first.

  
“Visit?” Mickeys face got soft and he patted his buddy on one of his giant shoulders.

  
“Of course I'll visit you. Listen, I'm going to LA for a job, but I have to come to Chicago once a month to meet with the probation skank and I'll come visit you every time I'm here, alright?” The Spanish guy nodded and Mickey went on to explaining exactly what he would be doing, talking about that some day José would be able to come and visit him.

  
“Listen, I have some things I have to tell you before I leave. First of all, behave. I don't want you getting in trouble. You wanna see your girls, right? So you'll have to keep calm, even if somebody is being a fucking dipshit. Also, don't listen to anything Manny or Todd say. You know they're full of shit and they just wanna make you so mad that you punch a hole through the wall again, like last time. Last thing, I've talked to my uncle and he'll make sure you'll get another serving of food in the cafeteria. Yeah, I think that's about it!” José looked at him with his kind, dark eyes that seemed so odd and misplaced compared to his giant, rough body, and nodded. He grabbed his pillow from behind where Mickey was sitting and opened the buttons to the case, pulling out some sheets of paper. He handed them to his cellmate and he was confused for a second, then he understood was José meant with the gesture.

  
“You can still receive letters, right? I'll get on the internet and I'll print you out a bunch of stories and shit for the girls. Then you can read them every time you want! Alright, I gotta keep packing. Help me up, would you?” José got up, grabbed Mickey underneath his arms and easily lifted him to his feet. Before letting him go, he wrapped his arms around him and gave him a hug that swept him off his feet and literally squeezed all the oxygen out of his body.

  
“Alright, alright. Love you, too, man. Now let me down, I can't breathe.”

  
José let go and put him back onto his feet.

  


  
Ian kept himself busy that day, vacuuming, cleaning, changing the water of the hot tub, his phone always in his back pocket, waiting eagerly for a call to get some new specifics about Mickey's approaching release.

  
When he was just gulping down a green juice, a horribly healthy tasting custom, he had adapted to since moving to California, his back pocket finally vibrated.

  
Much to his disappointment, it wasn't the usual number from Chicago Prison. He accepted the call while wiping the juice off the corners of his mouth.

  
“What you wearing?” Ian choked again, when hearing Mickeys rasp, low voice.

  
“Mickey? What number are you calling me from?” He heard him laugh and soak in air.

  
“Guess what I'm doing, ginger man?” He audibly breathed out and it took Ian a second to comprehend what was happening.

  
“Are you smoking right now? Are you already out of prison? What the fuck?” Mickey scoffed and clicked his tongue.

  
“Ding Ding Ding. Yes to every question. Got out like 4 hours ago. Mandy came and got me.” Ian felt a little insulted, firstly, because, although it made perfect sense, he didn't understand why Mickey had asked his sister to pick him up, and secondly because he had really been looking forward to doing that himself.

  
“Congrats, man. Why are you calling?” He started walking around his kitchen, trying to make himself some diner, while balancing the phone between his cheek and his shoulder.

  
“Jesus, Gallagher. You always walk around, giddy like Olaf the fucking snowman and now that I'm getting out of this shithole, all you got for me is congrats? What a mood kill.” Ian giggled.

  
“How could you possibly have watched frozen. That movie came out when you were in prison.” Mickey sighed.

  
“What you don't think they have movie nights, there? Guards deliberately chose children movies to fuck with the inmates, but we liked that frozen shit. Todd was singing it for days and days after. Anyways, that's not why I called. I'm fucking free, Gallagher. Congrats really all you got?” Ian smirked as he chopped some onions for his salad.

  
“Well, how about. I'm gonna bend you over the first coffee table I see when you get to LA? Are you ready to go or when do you want me to book the ticket for you to fly here?” Mickey laughed.

  
“Now, that's what I like to hear. Gotta pack some shit, but I should be ready tomorrow around noon?!”

  
Ian nodded, until he realized that Mickey couldn't see him.

  
“Done. I'll send a car for you at let's say 2pm and they'll drive you to the airport and they'll have all that stuff, like tickets and everything. I'm hoping you have a passport?” Mickey was silent for a minute, then he heard crackling noises and screaming.

  
“Ay, Mandy. Do I got a passport?” Silence, then some more crackling. “What the fuck are you talking about? I said passport not flash mob.” Ian laughed and his eyes teared up, partly from laughing, partly from the fumes of the onions.

  
“Ya, believe it or not, I still got a passport. This is my cell number by the way. Just so you know.” Ian heard some noises he couldn't identify, then Mickey cursing.

  
“What the fuck are you doing, Mick? It sounds like you're wrestling over there.” Mickey didn't really answer. He just heard some punches and laughing.

  
Was he seriously with some guy right now? Ian could feel the ugly little Jealousy monster awaken inside him, even though he had tried so hard not to let anything get to him.

  
“Gallagher, I gotta go. Iggy's just come home. Stupid fucker. OW!” Ian said his goodbyes and hung up the phone. Chewing on his lip while he washed his salad. Thinking about who the hell this Iggy guy could have been. There were literally a thousand options, since in the South side, living with somebody didn't always mean that they were family or lovers, many times it was to save money, or because it was practical, but that little monster inside Ian didn't shut up about that other possibility, that Iggy might be some long lost lover of Mickey.

  
Either way, it didn't matter. As of tomorrow, the thug would live in Los Angeles and he would have all the time in the world with him.

  
When he sat down to eat, his phone vibrated and the screen showed a new text message from Mickey.

  
It was picture of some guy Ian didn't know, lying on the floor his clothes crumpled and his hair rumpled.

  
Underneath it, Mickey had written a note.

  
“That's what you get when you challenge your brother.” Ian shook his head as a small mountain was lifted off his chest, feeling ridiculous for even being jealous.

  
A couple of moments later, when he had settled down on his sofa to catch up on some Game Of Thrones, his phone vibrated again.

  
“Can't stop thinking about that coffee table.. See ya soon, Gallagher!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's a little spoiler for you guys: in chapter 7 mick and ian will finally meet each other without prison guards around, wooho


	7. seven

Ian Gallagher was on an airplane. A place that had become somewhat of a second home to him. He'd been flying so much lately, he'd once or twice thought about maybe leaving some things on the plane, like a toothbrush, or some socks maybe, nothing that would freak the plane out, or gave the impression he wanted to move in or something. Just some small gestures that showed that he was thinking about it and open to the idea.

  
After arranging everything the day before, he had found himself with nothing to do but wait for his object of desire to be delivered to his front door, so he had just decided, to pick it up. Just to be sure that there would be no damage.

  
He was trying not to think about 2pm that afternoon and he was definitely trying not to think about seeing Mickey in other clothes than just his Jumpsuit. Not that he didn't like that beige suit of deliciousness, it was just the excitement of finding out what else could make that Greek statue of a body shine.

  
When he arrived at the airport, he found the car that had been rented for him and he typed Mickey's address into the built in GPS System. The cold voice of a woman told him that he was 45 minutes away from his destiny. Or had she said destination? The first one seemed more fitting.

  
The scenery outside his car changed quickly. The tall, expensive buildings soon made way for old, shabby houses with spilling paint jobs and broken, rotten front porches. The yards went from rigorously gardened to covered with old, molding furniture and empty beer bottles, the people from smiling happily to glaring at each other, most of them a hand in their pocket closed around some kind of weapon to defend themselves.

  
What others might have found scary, or repulsive actually made Ian feel happy and at ease. This was his home. Born and raised in the South side of Chicago, all this was his definition of normal. In Los Angeles he mostly just felt out of place, like everyone he met was just playing some kind of a role. At least in his hometown, people were upfront and had some honor left in themselves.

  
He drove by the Alibi and thought back to the many hours he had spent there from the age of six up until he left for college.

  
He was ten minutes away from his destination now and his heart started pounding in his chest. The smoked windows of his rental car came in handy now, so nobody could watch him nervously checking his face in the mirror. In order to prevent bad breath, he put about five peppermints into his mouth, only to stop the car a few seconds later, to spit four of them back out of the window. Fuck, these were hot. His mouth tingled from the sharp taste, and not in a good way.

  
When the woman announced that he had reached his final destination, Ian pulled over in front of an especially damaged looking house and stopped the engine. It was ten minutes to two and he didn't wanna seem overpunctual so he stayed in the car, nervously scratching and tugging at the skin around his fingernails. He was just about to get his phone out to check his emails while waiting when the front door of swung open and Mickey Milkovich stepped through the door. And the way that boy looked made Ians mouth dry and his pants feel a lot tighter than just seconds before.

  
Over the skintight, gray tank top, Mickey had put on a black, short-sleeved buttonup shirt, but had left the buttons open so everybody could admire the clearly visible outline of his abs underneath that shirt. His dark jeans were tight in all the right places and he was wearing boots, similar to the ones he had worn in Juvie. Something was becoming very clear to Ian at that moment.

  
Mickey Milkoviches body was a gift from the gods. He hadn't even had the chance to appreciate all the deliciousness happening before his very eyes, back when that potato sack of a jumpsuit had been covering all these goods, but the one thing that made Ian contemplate joining a church, just to be able to thank god properly for his sweet, sweet creation, was that short gold chain, hanging loosely around the thugs neck. It seemed like such a chavy thing to wear and Ian had never seen anyone being able to pull it off, even he himself had tried it at some point in his life, but it was like it had been made to lay on Mickeys chest. Shining, whenever he moved.

  
To cut things short, Mickey Milkovich was wearing the hell out of that outfit, his right hand holding a huge bag, his mouth balancing a cigarette.

  
Mickey placed his bag on the sidewalk and turned back to the house to hug his sister who seemed to be crying on his shoulder. He patted her back calmingly, looking a little lost, then he turned around opened the back door of the van.

  
“Ay, you from CBS? Here to drive me to the airport?” He didn't seem to recognize Ian, which was understandable because he was wearing a Chicago Bulls Snapback to hide some serious bed hair from his flight over. Ian mumbled approvingly and Mickey heaved his bag onto the backseat.

  
He shoved his luggage over to the other side and sat down beside it. Ian was struggling not to burst out laughing. This was not a taxi. Yet, how was Mickey supposed to know where to sit when suddenly a fancy car came to pick him up.

  
Hell, Ian remembered the first time that had happened to him, back in LA and he'd been so overwhelmed he didn't even dare to talk to the driver.

  
Ian cleared his throat in order to change up his voice.

  
“You're looking very dapper today, if I may say so, Mr. Milkovich!” He said in a bad, bad British accent. He sneaked a look through the rear view mirror and got just the reaction he was hoping to see. Mickeys eyebrows shot up to his hairline, he puffed out his cheeks and widened his eyes in an attempt to look threatening.

  
Then he seemed to over think his anger and breathed deeply, leaning back in his seat.

 

 

  
Why would he even get mad, right now? He clearly didn't like weird, sketchy dudes making fun of him, but fuck, he'd just gotten out of prison yesterday and he was basically on his way to win the fucking lottery. Ian Gallagher really was his ticket out of this hellhole he called home.

Yesterday had been a day of mixed emotions. On the one hand he had felt like he wasn't walking, he flying five inches above the ground, so happy was he to get out of the metal hotel and into the streets of Chicago.

  
They had spent the day just catching up, sitting on the sofa, getting shitfaced, like in the good old days. The M&M's, as Mandy was allowed to call them when nobody was listening, having one more private house party before he was off to the Lalaland.

  
Mandy had been crushed when he had told her the news, but she was also excited and glad he'd gotten the opportunity to work a steady job.

  
Mandy, being the kind soul she was, was always looking for ways to get her loved ones out of the vicious cycle that was living in poverty and Mickey getting to leave, was just one less Milkovich she had to worry about.

  
So they'd talked, drunk and laughed until the early morning hours and then fallen asleep, on the couch, Mandy snuggled against her brother, hugging him tight to make up for all the years she hadn't gotten to touch him at all.

  
That this had made it harder for him to leave was an understatement, but he knew he had to do this and there was also a pretty delicious goody that came with the deal.  
Also he would still see his sister once a month when he came to visit José and the probation skank.

  
Mickey didn't own a lot of stuff, which had made packing a quick and easy thing. He would have to buy a lot of things once he'd gotten to LA but for now, all he owned was in the bag next to him, only leaving behind his beloved gun collection, which he'd figured probably wouldn't be allowed on the plane so he had left them in his sisters capable hands.

  
Still, leaving them behind sucked. While other kids had gotten teddy bear at the age of 3 he'd gotten his first gun. Without bullets or anything but still. His father had given him a small revolver, 'To get him started. You can never begin early enough!' he had told his buddies proudly at his birthday party at the Alibi.

  
Then again, all that was behind him now and Mickey concentrated his attention on the driver who was fiddling around with the CD-Player of the fancy car that had come to pick him up.

  
“Are we leaving some time soon? Cause you know I've got a flight to catch?” Mickey tried his best to be friendly, practicing for his soon to be work place.

  
The guy turned around and Mickey instantly recognized that smirk.

  
“Gallagher?” Ian beamed at him and removed his snap back, taking a little bow.

  
“The fuck are you doing here? I thought you were in LA?” Ian laughed and put his hat back on.

  
“Had the day off, thought I'd surprise you.” He started the motor and Mickey jumped up, opening the car door.

  
“Hold on.” He hopped out of the SUV and onto the passenger seat. He didn't really know how to greet the redhead, since they hadn't actually touched before so he just awkwardly patted him on the shoulder and then locked his eyes on the windshield.

  
They'd been very blunt with their sexual attraction towards each other. But flirting was easy when there was a barrier between you and the other person that was literally forbidding you, by law, to touch each other.

  
Now they were alone. For the first time. In a car with smoked windows and Mickey could smell Ian's cologne and it smelled like amber and freshly cut grass and everything good and it was playing with Mickeys senses, lulling him in, making him want to grab himself a handful of that curly ginger hair and just kiss the crap out of the man next to him.

  
Before he could make his dreams come true though, Ian started the motor again and started driving.

  
“So, how's it feel to be a free man again?” Ian shot him a crooked smile and Mickey shuddered at his gaze.

  
“Feels great, man.”

  
They rode silently for a while, both lost in their own thoughts. It was a little awkward still, now that the whole dynamics of their relationship were different, but the excitement overbalanced the uncomfortable.

  
“Where am I staying until I find my own place?” Mickey asked when they left the South side again.

  
“At my place.” Ian said, smirking. When Mickey didn't answer immediately, he rowed back.

  
“I mean, if that's okay with you. I just thought maybe you don't wanna be in a hotel room. Just because, um, well my place is way nicer. I've got some consoles and a hot tub and everything. But we can still book you a room.” Mickey laughed at Ians nervous blabbing and cocked his eyebrows at the redhead.

  
“A hot tub, huh? Yeah, I can live with that!”

  
When they got to the airport, they checked in Mickeys bag but still had about an hour and a half to kill until they could board their flight, so they sat down in a bar and Ian ordered Whiskey for the both of them.

  
The waiter came and brought the check with him right away, which was unusual, but oh well. Mickey was about to get his wallet out, but Ian shook his head and handed the waiter a twenty.

  
“Ian Gallagher, I feel like a pretty, pretty princess.” Ian rolled his eyes at him and raised his glass.

  
“To your early release!” Mickey wasn't big on toasts and formalities but he didn't wanna ruin Gallaghers mood, so he just clinked his glass against his and gave him a little smile.

  
As he took a sip of his drink, he suddenly became very aware of Ian Gallagher, sitting across from him, their knees brushing against each other underneath the table, getting pinned down by his intense stares.

  
They talked about everything and nothing, with mostly Ian doing the talking and Mickey nodding and agreeing whenever it seemed appropriate.

  
When they were finally ready to board the plane, Mickey was actually kind of relieved. He loved hearing Ian talk about, well, everything basically, but he just wanted to go to LA and start this whole new life, as stupid as it sounded.

  
They had first-class seats and Mickey, who had obviously never been on a real plane, looked as terrified as he looked excited. Ian chuckled when he saw his face, which earned him a hard slap on the back of his arm.

  
“Shut the fuck up, Gallagher!”

  
The plane started, Mickey sitting on a window seat, Ian next to him, both staring outside, watching the airport as it became smaller and smaller in front of their eyes. Mickey was happy to have found out that he was not a nervous flyer. Which wasn't actually very surprising, because there was nothing he was afraid of otherwise. Exception being his father when he was drunk and accidentally walking in on Mandy fucking her Mandingo boyfriend Kenyatta. Now he knew, he, himself, wasn't the tallest guy, but seeing that Giant naked really always made him feel like a garden dwarf. Next to him, Ian was taking a warm towel and bowl with some kind of murky liquid inside from a stewardess and handed them to him.

  
Mickey wiped his hands with the towel, but the bowl created a little bit of a problem. He peered over to see what Ian was doing with that thing, but he was still wiping his towel over his face, leaving his cheeks flushed and a little damp, which was a combination Mickey sure liked, but that didn't clear up the bowl situation.

  
Finally he leaned over to the redhead and pointed his finger towards the cup on his trey.

  
“What the fuck is that for? That soup? Did that stewardess skank forget to bring a spoon or are you supposed to like, drink it?”

  
He regretted his question immediately when he saw the corners of Ians mouth twitch, as he tried to hold back a laugh. His body was quivering as he silently laughed at him.

  
“It's citrus water, Mick. You're supposed to clean your fingers in there!” Mickey rolled his eyes and sighed grumpily as he took his water and put it on the trey in front of Ian.

  
“Who fucking does that? That is the stupidest thing I've ever heard.” Ian chuckled and Mickey turned his back to the boy, staring out the window, until he fell asleep.

Mickey woke up to hot breath on his neck and lips brushing against his ear, sending shivers down his spine.

  
“What do you think about joining the Mile High Club with me, Mickey Milkovich?” Ian was so close, Mickey could smell his cologne, and minty breath. He smiled with his eyes still closed, but the redhead seemed to get the message.

  
“Wait five minutes, then come join me in the bathroom in the back.”

  
Mickey sat up and opened his eyes, only to see Ian standing up and walking away, an excited smile on his red lips.

  
He took one of the mints from the little present bowl they'd gotten when entering the plane and put it in his mouth to get rid of his sleeping breath. The thought of what was about to happen made his jeans feel so much tighter and he had to sit back and take a few deep breaths to not get overly excited. He still had to walk through a plane full of people who were all sitting at height of his crotch.

  
When he had relaxed a little, he stood up, ran his fingers through his hair and slowly made his way through the hallway. He reached the bathroom and took a quick look around to check if somebody had noticed him. There was no stewardess nearby and most of the passengers where sleeping, so he gently knocked on the door and Ian opened, grabbing him by the collar and pulling him inside.

  
The room was rectangular and so narrow they were pressed against each other when the door closed. Ian's face was glowing, his hands still on Mickeys chest, hungrily looking at him.

  
They stood there silently for a few seconds just observing the other person, they're bodies pressed against each other, their bulges getting harder with every little move they made. Ian let his hands trail down Mickeys front and stopped at his belt, opening it hastily.

  
“We gotta be quick, before somebody notices we we're gone for too long.” Ian said which earned him an incredulous stare and eye roll from Mickey.

  
“Gallagher, I haven't had a dick up my ass in like 6 years, this would have gone quickly even if we weren't in a fucking plane bathroom.” Ian covered his mouth with his hand, biting and nibbling right underneath his jawline, thrusting his his hips forward. Mickey growled into his hand and grabbed him by the waistband, opening his fly and reaching his hand inside his boxers. He grabbed his already hard cock and slowly started pumping. Ian stopped caressing his neck and let his head fall onto his shoulder trying to control the moans leaving his mouth with every stroke of Mickeys hand.

  
He reached his hands inside the back of his jeans and cupped his ass while rubbing his front against the other mans crotch. Mickey was delirious, he was rock hard and so turned on, craving Ians every touch, longing for his lips on his body. He was sure he wasn't going to last long if Gallagher would keep rubbing against him like that. Ian must have sensed his feelings because he grabbed the shorter man roughly by the hips, turned him around and pushed his upper body down, so he was bent over the little sink, with Ian right behind him.

  
“Take off your pants.” Ian ordered, his voice breathless and raspy. Mickey did as he was told, yanking of his pants, pushing them down to his knees and reaching behind him to help Ian get rid of his.

  
Through the mirror in front of him, he could see Ian spitting in his hands a couple of times and reaching down to slick up his cock. Not the best lubrication, but it would have to do for now. Mickey was ready for this to happen already, so he pushed his ass back to get Ian to hurry up. The redhead smiled at his impatience and reached his finger between his cheeks, preparing him for his cock.

  
Mickey moaned as his fingers pushed inside of him, stretching and scissoring. Oh how he had missed that feeling. He clenched his teeth and breathed heavily, grunting every time Gallaghers fingertips hit that sweet spot that made his skin tingle and his vision blurry. It felt like he was teasing him.

  
Mickey was more than ready and already so close to his release that he wouldn't last much longer if he kept doing what he did.

  
“Gallagher! Fucking get in me already!” Ian raised his eyebrows at his bossy tone, grabbed him by the hips and started thrusting into him. Mickey was seeing stars. Ian was merciless, just the way he liked it, slamming into him, again and again, making his head bang against the mirror, but he didn't mind.

  
The redhead was looking at him, sweat dripping down his face, a hazy look in his eyes, blissfully biting his lips to keep himself from moaning.

  
Mickey wasn't as silent. He grunted and moaned and breathed and cursed until Ian bent forward to cover his mouth with his hand, pulling him closer, wrapping his other hand around his dick.

  
“Shut the fuck up, Mickey. You're too loud.” If that was meant to calm him, it was the wrong strategy. The change of angle was hitting him in all the right spots and after a few thrusts and strokes from Ian, he came all over the redheads hands. A couple of seconds later he could feel Ians body tense up and he leaned forward, dumping all his weight on Mickey, as he rode out his own high.

  
They stayed like that for a little while longer, breathing heavily, not wanting to move, but they'd already been in the bathroom for too long, so Ian carefully pulled out of Mickey, wincing at the motion, and pulled his pants back up. The shorter boy turned around, a satisfied smirk on his red face.

  
“Damn, Gallagher, didn't know you had it in ya!” Ian smiled happily, no trace to be found anymore of the bossy, rough guy he'd turned into just minutes before.

  
He winked at him, before turning around and leaving him in the bathroom. Mickey pulled his hands back up and wiped the sweat from his forehead. If Gallagher always fucked like this, then he had really hit the jackpot.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alrighty, they finally met. sorry if the smut sucked, I've never really written smut before, so pls be forgiving!  
> thank you for reading, I hope you liked this chapter. It came out a little longer than the other ones. ♥


	8. eight

Exhausted from their satisfying workout, Ian and Mickey slept the rest of their flight to Los Angeles. Luckily nobody had noticed them as they sheepishly sneaked back to their seats. They shared a conspiratorial grin and Mickey fell asleep soon after. Ian did stay up a few minutes longer and just enjoyed watching Mickey go from the tough guy he appeared to be, to a peaceful, contently sleeping beauty. He could still smell his scent on him and he traced the bruises on his forearm with his fingertips, where the thug had gripped him too tightly in his bliss. If he hadn't been sure before, there was no doubt now. Ian was falling for Mickey Milkovich.

The taxi ride home from LAX was a bit more awkward than Ian had expected. Both men didn't really know what to do or say, luckily they're driver seemed more than willing to do all the talking. The wrong kind, unfortunately.

  
“You two are a cute couple. Did you just pick your boyfriend up from the airport?” Right, they were in LA again. People were way more accepting here than back in Chicago. It had taken him months to get used to the bluntness of the Californian people and judging by the look on his face, Mickey wasn't used to it just yet.

  
Miming his feelings, like always, he raised his eyebrows, tilted his head to the side and stared at the guy like he'd just offended his firstborn.

  
“What the fuck did you just call me?” He was about to undo his seat belt, right there on the 405, one of the busiest highways in the city, but Ian gently placed a hand on his arm and shook his head.

  
It actually made him laugh how uncomfortable Mickey was. Understandable, of course, but funny. Ian put on the sweetest smile he could come up with and raised his arm to caress Mickeys cheek.

  
“No, actually. I mean, I did pick my baby up. I flew all the way to Chicago to pick him up from prison. He was released two days ago, isn't that great?” He smiled sweetly and Mickey, who had shot him an evil glare when he had touched his face, turned his face towards the window so the driver wouldn't see the grin on his face when he realized what Ian was doing.

  
The face of the man in front of them fell when he heard Ians words and he actually reached out his hand and grabbed his wallet from the driving console and mumbled something how nice of him that was. Ian couldn't keep it together and buried his head on Mickeys shoulder. He let it happen for a few moments, then shrugged him off. Still, Ian beamed when he realized that Mickey wasn't clearing up their actual relationship status and he tried to take Mickeys hand, but he pulled it out of his reach.

  
“Don't push it, Gallagher.” He hissed and shook his head, giving him that eyeroll that Ian had grown fond of over last few weeks.

  
When they reached Ians condo they got out of the car and Ian handed Mickey a fifty, gesturing something to the smaller boy. Mickey understood and walked up to the taxi window, planting himself in front of the driver. He bowed down, leaning his elbows on the rolled down window, purposely showing off his knuckle tattoos, handing him his cash.

  
“Keep the change, buddy.” He leaned forward before standing back up and enjoyed watching the poor man jerking back in fear.

  
“What a fucking pussy.” Mickey sighed as he passed Ian who was laughing so hard, tears were streaming down his face.

  
Ian took his time, watching the guy drive off, waving eagerly.

  
“Gallagher. Hurry the fuck up.” Ian turned and headed towards his front door, fondling for the keys in his pocket.

He tried not to let it show on his face, but Ian's place was incredible. It had nothing of the Southside flair he was used to from back home, still, this place had Gallagher written all over it. The front door lead right into the spacious kitchen, which was clean but not sterile. You could tell that somebody lived here, it didn't look like from a magazine, wich was calming, in Mickeys opinion.

  
There was a flatscreen hanging over an electric fireplace opposite to a couch that was bigger than Mickeys bed back home and  _definitely_ bigger than his bunk in the clinker. The living room was surrounded by giant glass windows that showed a big yard with some sort of tub in the middle. He refrained from asking what it was, out of sheer embarrassment, so he just took a look around and listened to the redhead blabbing on about the decor and how he was so lucky he'd gotten all this furniture so cheap. Mickey smiled, amused by the almost apologetic look on his face.

  
“You don't have to apologize for having all this nice stuff, man. Looks like you've earned it!” He made a gesture towards the big wooden desk in the corner of the living room which held a computer and tons and tons of books. The keypad wasn't even visible underneath all the different sheets of inked paper and dried out pens. Ian smiled proudly putting off the compliment with a shrug. They stood there for a moment, Mickey looking around the room while Ian looked at Mickey.

  
“Um, your room is down that hall on the left, by the way. I'm gonna go get a beer. Want one?” Like that was even a question that needed to be asked. Mickey nodded, grabbed his bag and went to find his room. There were only three more doors down the hall, one that lead to his room, one that lead to the bathroom and one that was closed, which, he guessed, was Ians bedroom. He fought the urge to take a peek and find out why it was shut but he resisted and walked through his door.

  
The room wasn't that big, one king bed taking up almost the entire space. On the wall in front of Mickey was a big shelf filled with what seemed to be trophies, comic book figures and all kinds of other crap. He dropped his bag on the floor and walked over the bed to take a closer look. It was a childhood dream, really. Everybody was there: Spider-Man, Batman, Superman, Iron Man and every other man you could possibly think of. There were a bunch of framed photos of what looked like family and friends and on the top shelf, hidden behind a scary, big Gollum figure, a bunch of ninja weapons. Swords, Shuriken, nunchucks and a few knives. Now that was something Mickey could work with. He was still in full cry of the weapons when he heard a quiet knock. Ian was standing in the door, two beers in his hands and an embarrassed look on his face.

  
“Don't really know how to explain all this. It's just like a hobby I guess.” Mickey smirked. He took the nun chucks from the shelf and hopped down from the bed coming to a stand inches before Ian. He swung the thing around like it was second nature to him and wrapped it around the back of Ians neck. Holding both of the ends and pulling his head towards him.

  
Their faces were only inches away from touching and Ian seemed frozen, standing still, just looking at him with his big, round puppy eyes. Mickey moved his head forwards so their noses and lips were almost brushing against each other and smiled up to the ginger in front of him.

  
“All this doesn't surprise me one bit. You're gonna have to give me a little show with the weapons, sometime! I'll bet you I'm better than you!”

Ian wanted to say something clever in return but all he could think about was how close he was to kissing Mickey Milkovich. Which was clearly the intention of the whole maneuver, but still, very distracting.

  
“Yeah, maybe I will.” Not particularly articulate, but it was the best he could come up with under the circumstances. His pants were already starting to get tight again, from all the tension, but apparently, Mickey wasn't feeling it, he just grabbed one of the beers out of his hands and flopped down on his bed.

  
Ian sighed and sat down next to him, clinking their bottles together. Fucking tease.  
“So, how is this all gonna go?” Mickey asked, eyes glued to the drink in his hand. Ians heart pounded. Was Mickey really trying to have  _the talk_  right now, this early? He took a deep breath and turned towards the guy beside him, ignoring the butterflies that were going crazy in his stomach.

  
“Um, I don't know. I haven't really thought about it that much to be honest.”  _Lie._  
“I'm fine with just seeing where this goes.” _Lie._

  
“I mean, if you want to like, be in a relationship or whatever, I guess that's fine, but I think we shouldn't rush anything.”  _Such a Lie._

  
At this point, Ian was getting into a real Pinocchio mode. He wanted to keep going until he saw the creeped out look on Mickeys face.

  
“Yeah, I meant with the job and the whole consulting stuff. Like when does it start, or whatever.”

  
Oh crap. Of course that was what he meant. He probably looked like a tomato right about know. The skin on his face felt burning hot and he could feel the embarrassed redness quickly cover his whole face. Before he could dig himself any deeper into this hole of shame, he got up and put his beer down on the nightstand.

  
“Alright, I'm guessing you're really tired. It's late too, so, um goodnight!” Mickey shot a confused look to the clock that said 7:30pm and Ian shot out of the room and into his bedroom, closing the door behind him. If there was one thing he could take away from the recent experience, was that he was really good at thinking on his feet. It wasn't like he made stories up for a living or anything.

  
Mortified by his weird outburst of relationship talk, he crawled underneath his newly washed covers and tried to delete the last 10 minutes from his brain forever.

  
The air was getting scarce underneath his fort of shame and for a short moment Ian thought of just staying there, slowly suffocating and avoiding the inevitable encounter with the thug next door. He could only imagine the smug grin and how he would have to spend the next few days listening to all the stupid jokes and mocking. He thanked the lord for his ensuite bathroom and crawled out of bed, taking his clothes off on the way. A shower would help him relax now. He got a fresh towel from his cupboard and took the opportunity to shamefully bang his head against the door a couple of time. Before he could drop his boxers, he heard a amused cough behind him.

  
“There something wrong with your head?”

Mickey had originally planned on leaving the poor guy alone for the rest of the night, but he'd faced a whole new kind of problem when he had to take a leak and the fucking designer bathroom, with all the black and white checkered tiles and fancy shit didn't have a toilet. Who the fuck had a bathroom without a toilet?

  
That was some fancy LA shit and definitely not something he had ever seen before.

  
He considered just peeing in the shower and call it a day, but he had some kind of standards, even after sharing the room with three other men for almost six years.

  
Oh, prison. The good old days. Just your typical everyday problems like, trying not to get stabbed or suffocated while going for lunch in the cafeteria. That was the shit he knew how to deal with. Not all this feelings crap. Like, why he had thought that Ian was such an adorable, little dork when he'd stumbled out of the room like he'd just seen a ghost, or why he had to constantly fight the urge of running his hands through his fluffy ginger hair.

  
He'd originally come in to ask where the freaking bathroom  _with_  a toilet was, when he found Ian in his boxers shamefully knocking his head against his wooden dresser.

  
He crossed his arms and decided to watch for a little while, really enjoying the show until he decided it was enough embarrassment for today and coughed slightly before he could take his boxers off. Not that he didn't wanna see that gift of the gods body of his, it just seemed like the right thing to do at the moment.

  
“Three things: Why are you hitting yourself? Where the fuck is the toilet? And where can I smoke?” Ian shot him a confused look and crossed his arms before his chest as if he was trying to cover up his goods.

  
“What do you mean where's the toilet? There is a bathroom, literally attached to your room?” Mickey furrowed his brows and walked back across the hall to his room. Ian followed and opened a door which Mickey had assumed to be the closet. Which actually, it was, but inside, there was another door that lead to a small bathroom. He shook his head in disbelief.

  
“Now, how the fuck was I supposed to know that, huh? That's some Narnia shit right there.” Ian grinned, showing off his dimples.

  
Mickey had developed a love-hate relationship with Ians smile. On the one hand he couldn't get enough of it, with all the freckles, dimples and overall adorableness, on the other hand, every time he saw it, he forgot what he was about to say and his brain went into strike and left him staring dumbly at the redheads face.

  
“You watch some weird movies, Mick. Definitely not the kind of stuff I thought you would like.” Mickey rolled his eyes and flipped him off.

  
“Fuck you, I got a sister who has mastered a disturbing amount of different kinds of martial arts. I got no control over the TV whatsoever.” Ian chuckled.

  
“Whatever you say. You can smoke outside, by the way.” Ian left the room and Mickey finally got the chance to relieve himself.

  
The silent agreement on not mentioning Ians outburst from before was not ideal in Mickeys opinion, but he decided to store the information in his brain and save it for later when Ian wasn't expecting it to come up anymore.

  
He quickly washed his hands, then grabbed his pack of smokes and went outside where Ian was waiting. They smoked in silence for a while, sitting on a little bench on the patio, until Ian broke the silence.

  
“Um, about the work stuff. So, we have a few days off right now. But on Monday there's a writing sessions and your job is basically to come along and help out. It's not bad. There's drinks and food and the team is nice. Pretty tiring at first, but they grow on you. Yeah, we've gotta meet Jeff, your boss, for lunch sometime though, so you can meet the guy and sign some contracts and stuff.” Mickey just nodded and put his cigarette out in the ashtray on the table in front of them. Gallagher was still just in his boxers and it was distracting Mickey to the point where he had to force himself not to jump the poor guy. Ian took a little longer to finish his cigarette.

  
“You wanna go into the hot tub?” he asked, a playful smile on his face. Mickey smirked. Not that he knew what exactly a hot tub was, but it definitely sounded like something he could like.

  
“Sure.” Ian jumped up, looking like an excited puppy, and went over to the big tub, pushing some buttons, then running inside, mumbling something about towels and beers.

  
Mickey almost lost his shit when the thing started to buzz and lights appeared  _inside_  the tub. A few seconds after, the water started moving and it looked like his pot of water when was boiling water for ramen. Thit didn't seem right.

  
“Gallagher! Come here, there's something wrong with your tub thing.” Ian came running back, a six pack of beer in his hands, a bunch of towels in the other.

  
“Really? Fuck, I just bought the damn thing.” He came to a stand next to Mickey who was looking at the giant thing like it was gonna transform into freaking Megatron any second now.

  
Ian looked worried for a second, running around it, searching for something wrong, then he gave Mickey a weird, amused look.

  
“I don't see anything wrong with it. What'd you mean?” Mickey pointed to the water, sheepishly and shrugged.

  
“You know! The bubbles and all that shit? It looks like it's boiling hot. That's gotta be a bad thing.” Ian burst out in a smile.

  
“No, that's how it's supposed to be. What the fuck are you talking about?” It took another few seconds for him to grasp what was going on.

  
“Mick, do you not know what a hot tub is?” Mickey snorted grumpily, crossing his arms while Ian climbed inside.

  
“No of course I do. I grew up with one in every fucking room of my mansion in Beverly Hills. No, I don't know what a fucking hot tub is. Back home we don't even have running water most of the time.” Ian laughed heartily and splashed him.

  
“You're such a grumpy old man. Take your clothes off and get in here.”

  
Ian didn't have to say that again. He yanked off his clothes and climbed inside, still a little wary of the whole thing. As it turned out a hot tub was a fucking glorious thing.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always thank you for reading and thanks to all the people that have subscribed to this story.  
> if there's anything you want Mickey and Ian to do in LA feel free to let me know (my tumblr link is below) and  
> I'll include in the story if I can!  
> ♥


	9. nine

Contrary to his expectations, the water wasn't boiling hot but pleasantly warm. He sat down opposite to Gallagher and slowly adjusted to the warm water bubbling around him.   
“What, you're getting shy now?” Ian asked, a taunting smile on his face. Mickey scoffed and ignored him. From where he was sitting he could overlook the whole city. That place on the Hills must have cost the redhead a small fortune. The sun was setting and painting the sky in all kinds of reds and oranges. Usually he wasn't really into these kinds of things, but now it was actually kind of, well, beautiful. The hottie in front of him definitely added to the whole picture.   
After a few seconds of silence, Ian got up and floated over to sit next to Mickey. He put his arm around him and let his index finger trail up and down the back of his neck.   
Mickey shuddered and he felt Ians other hand stroke his leg in the snug water.   
“How are you doing, Mick?” Ians voice was low, husky and all kinds of deadly. Mickey looked away to try and hide his arousal, taking a gulp from his beer.   
“Fine. Would be doing a lot better if the water wasn't fucking burning my skin.” It wasn't. He just wanted something to distract himself from Ians hand slowly getting closer to his junk. Ian smiled a little, then leaned over and placed a kiss behind his ear. Mickey sighed frustratedly. He'd really reached a low point while in prison, because this all was getting him so hot and bothered he was actually afraid he would just come right now, after just a few well placed touches from Gallagher.  
He tried to scoot over to get away from Ian but the redhead wasn't having any of it. With one fluent movement, he grabbed Mickeys arm, turned him around and simply placed him on his lap, facing towards him.   
There was nothing left of the shy, embarrassed Ian from minutes before. This Ian was determined, smug and dead sexy.   
“What, you don't wanna play?” He purred and Mickey tried to get down from the ginger but he had his hands locked around his hips.  
“Because it seems like you do!” He let one hand trail down his front and took Mickey's erection into his hand. Mickey inhaled sharply.   
Ian moved his hand up and down, watching the older mans expression carefully.  
“So Yes?” He gave his dick another pump, then stopped.  
“Or no?” And he let go. Mickey sighed desperately. He had tried to wait out as long as he could but he wanted Ian now.   
“What do you think, huh?” Ian smiled triumphantly as Mickey reached his hands down into the water and tugged at his boxers.   
He lifted his hips up so he could pull them down, then grabbed Mickey and pulled him close again.  
He scratched his hands down his back, which lured a few grunted curses out of the thugs mouth, then cupped his ass cheeks, massaging roughly.   
That would have been great in theory. If there hadn't been one little thing Ian was forgetting.  
“ _What the fuck, Gallagher? I got shot like a fucking week ago. Why don't you just go inside and grab one of these ninja swords and stab me with it? That would be less painful. Jesus._ ” Ian raised his hands in defense, sorrow in his eyes.  
“Sorry. Sorry. I didn't mean to-” Mickey waved him off and leaned over the rim of the hot tub.   
“Yeah, yeah, alright. Just go easy on the injured cheek, alright?” Ian chuckled.  
“Okay, I'll just on the other one, then?!” That actually got a laugh out of Mickey and Ian smiled proudly as he got up and laid a hand on his arched back.   
“So, Mick. What'd you fantasize about while being locked up?” Ian began as he slowly pushed a finger into Mickey, his other hand reaching around the brunette to massage his length.  
He moaned silently and turned around to face Ian, an annoyed expression on his face.  
“Gallagher. You wanna chitchat, or you wanna get on me, huh?” Ian rolled his eyes and quickly added another finger, scissoring and stretching him, until Mickey turned around again, giving him a look that could only be translated to 'hurry the fuck up'. So Ian pulled out his fingers and replaced them with his throbbing erection.   
Mickey winced in pain and Ian stopped immediately. Still, he wasn't gonna let this opportunity slide to make fun of the man in front of him.  
“What's up, Mick? Too much for you to handle?” Mickey snorted and pushed himself back, until Ian was all the way inside him.  
They stayed still for a few seconds, both adjusting to the situation. When Mickey seemed to relax around him, Ian grabbed his hips and started moving.   
It wasn't very different from their first time on the plane. Quick and rough. Impersonal, almost. Not Ians favorite way to fuck, but he just figured they would have a lot of time to try and change things up a bit.   
Mickey was quite silent in front of him. His head buried in his arms, grunting and moaning occasionally, hissing when Ian changed the angle too much, hitting his injury.   
When he could feel Mickey clenching around him, Ian bent forward, bracing his arms around Mickeys. He kissed and sucked marks onto his neck then reached a hand down to jerk him off, when his breath started to get heavier and uneven. It only took a few more seconds until Mickey came all over Ians hand and into the water.  
He would have to change it tomorrow, Ian thought before he could feel his own orgasm approaching. After a series of quick, deep thrusts, he came inside of Mickey, burying his head on his neck. They stayed like this, both breathing heavily, drained from the activity, until Mickey lightly elbowed him in the stomach, Ians queue to get off of him.   
Ian pulled out and sat down next to Mickey who was lighting two cigarettes, handing one over to him.   
“Man, that was good!” Mickey laughed, closing his eyes and leaning back against the inner edge of the tub.  
Ian scoffed and looked at him with raised eyebrows, letting the smoke exit his body through his nose.  
“That all you got, Milkovich?” Mickey opened his eyes, a little startled by the unimpressed comment.  
“Fuck you. I got a gunshot wound in my ass, remember? Not the best prerequisite for assfucking.” Ian laughed and looked down on himself, realizing that he forgot something essential, again.  
“Shit. Mick, you don't have aids or some shit, right?” Mickey looked at him as if he'd just grown another head.   
“Is that your idea of sexy talk, Gallagher?” Ian laughed but he was still worried. They hadn't used a condom. Not now, not earlier on the plane. Not to jump to conclusions, but Mickey had just gotten out of prison.  
“Come on, Mick. Seriously.” Mickey took the last drag from his cigarette, dunked it into the water and flicked it into the yard, which earned him a disapproving look from Ian.  
“Look man, I don't have any STDs. They test you for that shit before you go to prison.” Ian wasn't convinced.  
“Jesus, Ian. I told you I haven't banged anybody since then. In contrary to every prison movie ever made, there's no fucking going on in the pokey. I'm good. I can probably even get you the test results if it'll stop you from whining.” Ian shook his head.  
“No it's okay. I believe you! I just wanted to make sure. Not ready to die yet, you know?” Mickey rolled his eyes at the lame joke, then got up.   
He climbed out of the tub grabbing on of the towels and wrapped it around his waist.   
Ian took a moment to enjoy the view before following him into the house.

They both disappeared into their rooms to shower and get changed. Mickey carefully washed his body, trying to get as little body wash into his wound as possible.   
He removed the wet bandage from his ass and weirdly bent over in front of the mirror to try and take a peak at the wound. It didn't feel too good and the skin around his ass was hot and taut. Unfortunately from this angle he couldn't see anything. What he did see in the mirror were all the marks Ian had left on his body.  
There were long red scratches all over his back and a couple of hickeys on his neck.   
Bizarrely, it didn't make Mickey feel annoyed or uncomfortable, it actually felt alright. The fear of somebody seeing them and finding out about him stayed out, as his father and all the Southside fag bashers were miles and miles away. Still, the whole gunshot wound situation had to be dealt with.  
Mickey quickly yanked on a pair of boxers and left the bathroom.  
“Gallagher!” Ian appeared a few moments later, clothed in sweatpants, beautifully tight around his ass, and a tank top with a CBS logo on the front.   
“What's up? You ready for round two?” Mickey laughed.  
“I just showered. We're done for today, Fabio!” Ian smiled disappointed and crossed his arms, leaning against the door frame. Fucking Adonis!   
Mickey shook his head, trying to remember what he'd called the ginger for. A sharp pain in his ass cheek helped him remember.  
“Take a look at my wound, would ya? I can't see anything and it feels infected!” Ian smiled brightly and Mickey rolled his eyes.  
“I only ask because I have no other choice. Don't make this weird again!” The redhead laughed and took a step closer when Mickey pulled down one side of his boxers.   
He crouched down and let his finger trail down Mickeys ass cheek before taking a closer look at the injury.  
“Gallagher. What did I say about not making this fucking weird?” Ian quickly took his hand off of him and inspected the gunshot wound. Gladly, Ian had seen a few of those wounds in his years of living in the Southside and assisting his neighbor Veronica, who was the go-to woman if you didn't have the money to see a real doctor.  
“It' not too bad. A little infected maybe, but I've seen way worse. Let's just go to the doctors tomorrow and let him take a look at it. Mickey scoffed and pulled his pants back up.  
“Yeah, sure. And after that we'll go for a swim in my safe of money. I'm not Dagobert fucking Duck, man. I ain't got health care and I don't have enough money to pay for that shit.” Ian rolled his eyes.  
“It's fine. You get healthcare benefits with your new job. Quit whining. Now pull those boxers back down and let me put a bandage on that sweet, little ass of yours.” He slapped Mickeys uninjured cheek and got up to get some bandages from the bathroom. Mickey just cursed him, but obeyed.  
After he was all patched up and had changed into some shorts and a t-shirt, Ian sat down on the bed and watched Mickey unpack some of his stuff. It was around ten pm now.   
“You wanna watch a movie?” Mickey shrugged.  
“Yeah, alright.” Ian got up and went to the living room, Mickey following him a few steps behind, limping a little bit.  
He sat down on the couch while Ian ran around turning on the TV and the DVD player rushing over to his impressive collection of movies.  
“Have you seen Iron Man 3, yet?” Ian asked, turning around to Mickey who was lying on his front, trying to keep weight off of his ass.   
“Man, I haven't even seen Iron Man 1, yet. When will you fucking remember that I've been in prison for the last 6 years? You got something that you wrote?” Ian hesitated, then picked out a DVD Box from the Shelf.   
“Uh, yeah alright. I was on the writing team for this show called Shameless.” Mickey nodded.  
“Well, let's go, then! Come on, Gallagher! No false modesty. Show off your talent!” Ian put the first DVD into the player and sat down on the couch, pulling Mickeys head onto a pillow in his lap.  
“Gay!” Mickey stated, too tired and comfortable to get up and sit somewhere else. Ian laughed and started the DVD.   
“You love it!” Mickey punched his leg.  
“Shut the fuck up, Gallagher. I can't here anything!” Ian chuckled.  
“They haven't even said anything yet. That's the language selection menu.” Mickey kept bickering and complaining until a few minutes into the show, when he got suspiciously quiet.   
Ian bend forward to find his eyes shut and his mouth open, sleeping peacefully.   
He could have woken him up so he wouldn't miss the episode, instead, he took advantage of the situation and ran his fingers through the thugs dark, thick hair, enjoying not being told off immediately.   
Half an hour into the next episode, Mickey woke up and Ian quickly withdrew his hand. Mickey pushed himself into a standing position and looked at him with puffy eyes and a little smile.   
“It's such a good show, Gallagher. It lulled me right to sleep. Good job!” Ian laughed and punched his arm playfully.   
“Shut the fuck up. You fell asleep before it even started.” There was a hint of guilty conscience flickering in Mickeys eyes before his expression turned indifferent again.  
“Whatever. I'm going to bed!” He got up to his feet and toddled towards his room. Somewhere on the way there Ian heard a bump, then Mickey cursing.  
“Fucking shelf!” He burst out laughing and got up to turn off the electronics to go to bed himself. Mickeys door was closed. A little disappointed, he went to the bathroom to brush his teeth. Suddenly he was extremely tired from this eventful day. He yanked off his sweatpants and shirt, switched off the light and shuffled towards his bed.  
He let himself fall right across the bed and jumped back up as if stung by an adder.   
“What the fuck, Gallagher?”   
Ian rubbed his head where he'd collided with Mickeys knee and slid back into the bed, a lot more carefully this time. Mickey was lying somewhere in the middle occupying all of his blanket.  
Ian was glad that it was so dark in the room, so Mickey couldn't see his beaming smile when he lay down next to him.   
He grabbed the edge of the blanket and yanked it towards him.  
“No fucking way, Mick. You sleep here, you share my blanket!” Mickey grumpily growled something then let go of about a quarter of the duvet, turning away from Ian.  
“Selfish prick!” The redhead laughed incredulously, then slipped underneath the blanket, scooting all the way up to where Mickey was laying, wrapping an arm around him.  
“Gay.” He grumbled but didn't push him away.   
Ian inhaled Mickeys scent and they fell asleep almost immediately. 

 

Gallagher was a strange fellow in more ways than one.   
Firstly, he could easily manage to make a kingsized bed feel smaller than his bunk-bed from prison. Secondly,   
He always smelled like someone out of a fucking perfume commercial, thirdly he was always, without exception in a glorious mood.   
Just as this morning.   
Mickey had woken up alone in Gallaghers bed. The alarm clock on the bedside table read ten am and it felt fucking amazing to have slept in for the first time in years.  
He went to his bathroom to brush his teeth and then met Ian in the hall, holding a pan and a cooking spoon.  
“Oh good, you're up! I was just about to wake you. Breakfast is ready!” He smiled a bright, deadly Ian smile and turned around to walk back to the kitchen, showing off his ass in a pair of gray, sweatpants.  
How'd he even get his ass to look that way? Fuck, Mickey had done nothing but workout for the last six years and still his ass didn't look half as delicious as Gallaghers did.   
Shaking his head over his ass-envy, he straightened up and went into the kitchen.   
“No, we're eating outside. Take this with you!” He put a pot of coffee into Mickeys hands and waved him out of the kitchen.  
“You're a fucking bossy kitchen fairy, you know that, right?” Ian shrugged and pushed him through the door.  
“Yup, I know. Now go outside, sit down and don't you start without me!” Mickey laughed at Ians energetic mood and went outside to find the table bursting with all kinds of different breakfast options.   
The ginger rushed outside and placed a plate of pancakes in the middle of it all.  
“Alright. Bon appétit!” He poured himself and Mickey some coffee and grabbed a pile of pancakes, drowning it in syrup! Mickey watched him disbelievingly.  
“How long have you been up to make all this stuff?” Ian shrugged.  
“I get up at seven usually, go for a run and then make breakfast. But I slept in today and got up at eight. Wanted to stay in bed a little longer.” He shot him a short look, then started eating.  
“Yeah, I bet. You're like one of those constrictors that choke you and then never let go.” It was meant as a joke but Ians smile faded. He looked down on his hands, embarrassed and a little disappointed.  
“Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to...” Instead of continuing his sentence he just took a large gulp of his coffee, regretting it immediately when the hot fluid burned his tongue. Mickey sighed and looked at the redhead fondly.  
“Jesus, Gallagher. I didn't say it was bad, did I? It's all good. I liked it. Now quit looking like a sad, little puppy, so I can enjoy my breakfast.” Ians smiled brightly and his cheeks flushed.   
The food was delicious. And it kept Ian from talking all the time. Which was a plus because there wasn't much that made Ian stop blabbing out every little thought in his head.  
Mickey didn't mind it that much. He found himself not really being annoyed by anything Gallagher did, which was concerning, but he decided not to worry about it right now.   
“So, what are we doing today?” Mickey asked while chewing his fifth banana pancake with freshly cut banana on the side. Ian looked up, with a bit of Nutella in the corner of his mouth.  
“Nothing planned, really. I need to go to the store to buy some groceries, but you don't have to come with if you don't want to! Other than that, we can do whatever we want! What do you wanna do?” Mickey tossed him a napkin and pointed towards the chocolate on his face then took a sip of his coffee.  
“I need some stuff, too. So, yeah grocery shopping sounds good. Then I gotta call my probation skank and I need to send a letter.” Ian furrowed his brows curiously.  
“Yeah, alright. We can take it to the post office when we go to the store.” Mickey nodded and kept eating. 

 

“Ay, you got a computer I can use?” Mickey asked when they were done clearing the table. Ian was still washing some dishes that didn't fit in the dishwasher and he nodded.   
“Yeah, you know, the one on my desk in the living room?” Mickey nodded and made his way over to the massive wooden desk with the piles of reading material on top.  
He sat down, pushing some papers aside to free the keyboard. He opened Google and typed his search. 

Ian was just about ready with cleaning the mess he'd left in the kitchen when Mickey called him from the other room.  
“Gallagher. How do you print something?” Ian laughed. Mickey was many things, but up to date with technology really wasn't one of them.  
He stepped up behind him and placed his hands on the backrest of the armchair. The thug quickly closed the browser window where he had googled _best stories for kids_. Ian smiled.  
“What's up?” Mickey pointed to something he'd opened with Microsoft Word and shrugged.  
“How the fuck do you print?” Ian laughed and leaned down, putting his hand over Mickey on the cursor to show him the right buttons to press. Soon, there were a bunch of noises and somewhere from underneath all the books and files there appeared a freshly printed paper with some text on it that headlined: _The Curious Ladybug_. Ian smiled.  
“Why do you need to print out something about the curious ladybug?” He asked and Mickey scoffed and tried to hide the sheet paper with his hands.  
“None of your goddamn business, now, is it?” Ian walked a few steps backwards, amusement coloring his face.  
“Alright, do what you gotta do. I'm gonna go get dressed and then I'm ready to go to the store. You ready to go?” Mickey nodded and Ian left the room, hearing the printer go again when he was gone.  
Ian needed a bunch of different stuff, also a birthday present for Lance, so they went to Costco.   
Mickey was flabbergasted when he Ian lead him out of the house and into a garage that he hadn't even noticed the day before, and a Porsche Cayenne appeared when the automatic door opened.  
“How fucking rich are you, man?” Ian shrugged modestly.   
“I told you I did that Shameless Show before CSI: Chicago! That payed well.” Mickey shook his head in disbelief and got into the passenger seat.   
There was all the technical knick-knack you could ever need, and more. Ian wasn't even that into cars but at the time, Jeff had talked him into buying a nice big car, just because he could afford it. And it had kind of grown on him.   
Ian drove them to the store and they picked up stuff they needed. Mickey grabbed a bunch of toiletries and everyday stuff and Ian got the food he needed around the house. They were almost at the check-out, when Ian saw a familiar face. He tried to duck down between a shelf of pickles but it was too late. Troy had already spotted him and was waving furiously. Great. Nothing better than running into a clingy ex. Thank god, Mickey had gone off to get the last few issues of _Guns &Ammo_ Magazine.   
“Ian, love. How funny to see you here. How have you been?” Ian forced a smile on his face and placed his shopping cart in front of him so Troy couldn't get close enough to hug him or anything like that.  
“Troy. Good. You?” The flamboyantly gay man gasped theatrically and went on to ramble about his life. He finished about five minutes after.  
“Sweety, I gotta go, but we should definitely get together sometime. Catch up!” Ian rolled his eyes.  
“I don't think that's a good idea, Troy. I thought we talked about this?” Troys expression changed immediately and his eyes fixated on something behind Ian.  
Mickey threw some cologne into the cart and looked confused by the tension that had suddenly built up between the two men.  
“Who's this, Ian?” Troy gasped.   
“Look, Troy. I broke up with you for a reason. I don't wanna get back together, alright? We've talked about this.” Troy didn't seem to care. He was eying Mickey who seemed to slowly grasp the situation.   
“No, you talked about this. Give me another chance. You owe me that much! “ Ian rolled his eyes.   
“You cheated on me three weeks into our relationship, Troy. I don't _owe_ you anything. I'm gonna go now.” He pushed his cart past the man, but he grabbed his forearm tightly and yanked him towards him. 

Within seconds, Mickey was next to the both of them, inches away from Troy.  
“That won't end well for you, buddy! Trust me!” The dangerous smile on his face did its trick and Troy let go off Ians arm. Mickey banished him with another look, then shortly patted Ians back.   
“Everything alright?” Ian nodded, a bashful smile on his freckled face.  
“Yeah. Just an overly attached ex boyfriend.”   
“Seems like a keeper!” Mickey stated sarcastically, as he watched the guy disappear through the front door of the store.  
“Yeah, I think so!” Ian said, his eyes locked on Mickey.


	10. ten

With all the groceries sorted in the huge trunk of Ians Range Rover, they continued their little journey of procurements and headed to Ians doctor. Mickey was still protesting, when he pulled into the parking lot.  
“What the fuck are we doing here? I told you I don't have insurance and I'm not even signed on for that job so I can't be getting any health care from them.” Ian smiled and got out of the car without responding. He went over to the drivers side when Mickey refused to leave the vehicle.  
He found the ex-con sitting in the passenger seat, his arms crossed, staring stubbornly straightforward.  
“You look like a five-year-old, Mick. Come on, let's go. I know the doctor, he won't charge you and if he does I'll pay for it. It's no big deal.” That got a reaction out of Mickey. He turned his head and shot the redhead his most evil glare that he usually used for intimidation and scaremongering when involved in criminal affairs. Ian didn't even flinch.  
“What, you think you're some kind of sugar daddy now, just because I let you put it in me a couple of times?” Ian leaned his arm on the open window and cocked his eyebrows.  
“The health of your ass is important to me, it's my most favorite body part of yours. Now do me a favor and be selfless and let the doctor take a look, alright?” Mickey tried really hard to stay mad, but still, a smile crept onto his face.  
“You're a fucking dick.” He pushed Ian out of the way and got out of the car, trying to ignore the triumphant grin on the redheads face.  
They entered the lobby of the feng shui marked practice and Ian greeted the young, blonde receptionist heartily.  
“Ian Gallagher, is that you? I haven't seen you in forever!” She stood up and circuited her wooden desk quickly to engulf him into a hug. Ian locked his arms around her shortly, then watched as she teetered her way back to her seat.  
“Hi, Karen. You look lovely. Is Ned in? Can we see him?” The receptionists smile became impish and she raised her index finger in the air while leading the telephone hearer to her ear.  
“Ned, Ian Gallagher is here to see you. He brought some dark-haired, hot company.” Mickey raised his eyebrows at the comment but Ian waved him off.  
“She's like that with everyone. You'll get used to it.” Mickey became his stubborn self again and crossed his arms. “No I won't. I will never see the bitch again, anyway.” Karen got off the phone and gave Ian a nod.  
“Thanks, love. Have a great day!” She fluttered her eyelashes and winked at him. “Bye, Ian.” 

Mickey had never been to a doctor before, except in prison, but he was pretty sure, this wasn't how you usually got an appointment there.  
Ian walked through the waiting room determinedly and knocked on a door that said _Dr. Ned Lishman_ on it. A deep calm voice ordered them to enter and Ian opened the door and entered the room.  
There was a big fancy looking desk in front of a giant window that overlooked the ocean. Behind it sat a man that Mickey estimated to be at least 50 years old. His hair was a mix of gray and light blonde, his face wrinkled but neat. He was wearing beige pants, a light green polo shirt and an ironed, clean white coat. All in all, Mickey thought, objectively speaking, you could call him attractive, if you were into that kind of thing. Which Mickey was not, but he wasn't so sure about Ian.  
Upon seeing Ian, Ned sat back in his chair, a cheeky smile on his face.  
“Ian, you brought company. Finally warmed up to that threesome idea I've been begging you about?” Mickey shuddered in disgust and turned around to leave again, repulsed by the doctor. Ian got hold of the seam of his tank top and hindered him from running out of the room immediately.  
“Why? Have things with Eduardo gone south already? You got married two month ago. How's that even possible?” Ned laughed and put his hands behind his head.  
“No, all is well. If it's not your desire for my body, what brings you here?” He was obviously grasping how agitated and uncomfortable Mickey was and he seemed to be loving every second of it.  
“Can you take a look at Micks wound? I think it might be infected.” Ned got up and walked over to the other side of his bureau where a little couch and a table were standing.  
“Sure. Strip and lie down on the couch.” Neds face got a little brighter when Mickey reluctantly dropped his pants and lay down to show his shot wound.  
“Well that's a nice ass if I've ever seen one. What happened, there?” He sanitized his hands at the sink nearby and carefully ripped off the band aid, his eyes getting a little wider when he recognized the type of wound.  
“I'm assuming it's not a sex thing..” Ian rolled his eyes and Mickey had to close his and count to ten to refrain from raising his foot and kicking the old fuck in the face.  
“An inmate shot me a couple of weeks ago.” Ned froze. “Inmate as in prison?” Mickey rolled his eyes and buried his face in the couch. He was getting really tired of the doctors stupidity. Ian who was standing behind the both of them, carefully monitoring Mickeys behavior to be able to intervene at any moment, nodded.  
“Yeah. He just got out.” The doctor nodded and patted down the wound a couple of times before slapping Mickey on the uninjured ass cheek, which sent Mickey jumping up, yanking his pants back on.  
“What the fuck?” Ian raised his arms calming. “Relax, Mick.”  
But Mickey was far from relaxing. He buttoned his jeans, grabbed the car keys from Ians hand and stormed off.  
“Was that necessary?” Ian asked, sitting down on the couch, annoyance dominating his expression. Ned shrugged.  
“He doesn't seem too fond of me!” The redhead chuckled. “Being fond of anything isn't really one of his personality traits.” Ned wanted to respond, but the telephone interrupted their conversation. He accepted the call and talked with the caller for a few seconds.  
“Alright. My next real client is in. Listen. This is not an official examination, so I'm not telling you officially that your boytoys shot wound is a little infected. I'm not telling you that it's nothing to worry about.” He stood up and got something from a cabinet on the wall. Then put a tube of creme on the table and sat back down.  
“I'm not telling you that he should apply this once a day.” Ian raised his arm to take the tube.  
“Noo, don't take the tube. That's prescription medicine. I'm not okay with you taking this. ” Ian rolled his eyes and took the paste that Ned was pushing in his direction.  
“Thanks, Ned. Say hi to Eduardo for me.” The old man nodded and gave him a warm smile before opening a file on his desk and diving back into work.  
Ian walked onto the parking lot and saw Mickey sitting in the front seat sucking down a cigarette.  
“Absolutely not. Get the fuck out. You're not gonna smoke in my 200.000 Dollar car.” Mickey rolled his eyes and flicked the cigarette bud out of the open window, while Ian climbed into the car.  
“Was that your fucking grandpa?” Mickey asked, a taunting look on his face. “What's your problem with him? You couldn’t get out of there fast enough.” The thug scoffed and looked out of the window.  
“He's a dick.” Ian laughed as he started the engine and pulled out of the parking spot. “Yeah, real dick. The guy who just gave you a free medical exam and free medicine and everything. Fucking asshole.” It wasn't like the dude was pure evil. There was just something sketchy about the way he looked at Ian.  
“You fuck him?” Mickey asked, trying to seem like he could care less. Ian shrugged. “A couple of times, a while back. He's nice. Bought me stuff and everything, when I'd just moved to LA.” They were almost home now and Ian reached for the garage opener on the backseat.  
“Pedophile.” He scoffed. “Calm down, Rambo.”

They went inside and Ian flopped down on the couch. The weather in LA was so hot that even a grocery trip made him feel like he had just run a marathon. Mickey entered the room with two beers in his hand and gave one to Ian. That was as close as Ian would come to hearing an apology for his guests previous behavior, Ian was sure of it. But it was better than nothing, so he would take it.

Mickey took a big gulp from his drink and put his feet on the coffee table. “Fuck, man. LA is freaking boiling.” Ian laughed and wiped a sweat bead from the dark haired mans forehead.  
“You'll get used to it.” Mickey looked at him, one brow cocked, an interested look on his face. “So, what's up with your taste in men, huh?” Ian laughed. “What do you mean?” He had a pretty good idea what Mickey meant, but still, he wanted to be sure.  
“What do I mean? A freaking stalker, that geriatric viagroid, an ex-con? You got some kind of daddy issues?” Mickey laughed at Ians startled expression. “You wanna talk daddy issues right now?” The redhead got up and crossed his arms before his chest.  
“Turn around!” Mickey looked confused, to say the least.  
“Wha-?” Ian nodded with all the authority he could come up with.  
“Turn around! Take your pants off!” Mickeys expression turned into a knowing smile and he turned around and quickly yanked his pats down. “No foreplay, Gallagher? Thought you were the type that needed to cuddle for at least an hour before getting to the fucking part.” Ian laughed heartily and took another swig of his beer.  
“What the fuck are you laughing at?” Ian pulled the band aid off in one quick yank and listened contently as Mickey winced in pain. “How much I'm not going to sleep with you right now!”  
Ian pulled the tube Ned gave him out of his pocket and started rubbing it onto the red, hot wound.  
“ _What the fuck, Gallagher?_ ” Mickey tried to jump up and run away but Ian had his legs between his and forced him to stay in place.  
“Once everyday, you're supposed to put this cream onto the wound. Ned, who you hate so much was nice enough to give it to you for free. Now grow the fuck up and stop being such a little pussy about a guy I used to bang forty years ago.”  
Usually, Mickey would never let anyone talk to him that way, especially let that comment slide, but this authoritative, bossy version of Gallagher did something to him, so he stayed put trying not to weep while the creme burnt into his skin. “What the fuck is in that cream? Fucking acid?” Ian ignored him until he'd put a fresh band aid onto the wound, then went over to massage Mickeys cheeks, spreading them apart. While usually this was a behavior Mickey would highly endorse, especially because Gallagher had just said he wouldn't have sex with him, this time, Mickey panicked.  
“ _Gallagher, you go wash that cream off your hands before they get anywhere near my asshole. You're not gonna fucking burn me internally."_. Ian laughed out loud and left the room. Meanwhile Mickey kneeled on the sofa, with a semi-hard-on, waiting in anticipation.  
A few minutes passed and Mickey didn't hear Ian or a faucet anywhere in the house. He stood up, frustratedly putting his boxers back on, hissing when the waistband brushed the wound and turned around.  
Ian was standing in the doorway, his hands loosely in the pockets of his cargo shorts, leaning against the light wood a shit eating grin on his face.  
Mickey didn't say anything. He just walked past the redhead, jamming his shoulder against his and walked down the hallway in to his room, shaking his hands in pure frustration and annoyance.  
Gallagher was gonna be the death of him, that became clearer and clearer to him every day. 

Ians no sex punishment lasted about a day and a half when on sunday morning, right after waking up, he looked through his window and saw Mickey skulking around the hot tub, bending down, trying to figure out how the damn thing worked. Ian tried hard not to squeal at all the cuteness, that was showing from the ususally so cool Mickey Milkovich as he opened the window and leaned outside.   
“Ay, Milkovich. You up for some breakfast in bed?” Mickey, who had been kneeling in front of the tub, trying to read something written on it, shot up and turned towards the house.  
“You making those banana pancakes again?” Ian smiled, cocking one eyebrow. “Sure. I'll make you pancakes after!” Mickey finally seemed to get the allusion and went running towards the house, whilst already taking his shirt off, grinning in anticipation.  
He arrived in Ians bedroom moments after, now only wearing his boxers and Ian crossed the room, grabbed Mickey by the waist and threw him onto the bed.  
“Morning, tiger.” Mickey laughed as Ian kissed his way down his front only to skip his crotch area and come right back up.  
“Morning, Mick. Sleep well?” Ian beamed when he realized Mickey was wearing that little gold chain again, that he'd worn the day he came to LA and locked a finger around it and raised Mickey up to meet his mouth. They crashed their mouths together hungrily and Ian automatically parted his lips when Mickey slipped a hand in his boxers, palming his erection.  
“What's gotten you so hot and bothered all of a sudden?” Mickey panted as he massaged Ians tip with his thumb, forcing a series of moans and curses out of the redheads mouth. Instead of answering truthfully and most likely turning Mickey off, Ian stayed silent and mirrored the older mans actions, whilst kissing and nibbling every part of his face and neck he could reach.  
They jerked each other off for a while, lost in each others scent and taste before realizing that they were both dangerously close to coming already. “Shit, Gallagher, stop!” Ian pulled his hand out of Mickeys boxers and they both quickly yanked of their underwear.  
Mickey turned around and got on all fours while Ian reached to the bedside table to get the lube from one of the drawers.  
Whilst loving the sight of Mickey all willing and ready to be pounded with his head buried in the pillows, his elbows supporting his body, Ian had something different in mind this morning.  
He locked his arm around his waist and easily flipped him over to his back. He didn't seemed too pleased but he didn't protest either so Ian spread some lube on his index finger, leaned forward so they were face to face, and leaned in for a deep kiss while he slowly inserted a finger into Mickey, quickly adding a second when the older boy stopped their kiss to roll his eyes at him.  
Ian scissored his finger, moving in and out, stretching his hole as best as he could until Mickey caught a grip of his hair, forcing their lips apart. “You looking to park a fucking truck in there? I'm ready. Let's go!” Ian cocked an eyebrow and without hesitation slid into Mickey until he couldn't go any further.  
Mickey inhaled sharply, tightening his grip in Ians hair and he stood still until he'd gotten used to being filled.  
When Mickey was relaxing slightly, Ian started moving, slowly, observing Mickeys every move and moan, trying to please him completely.  
After a while Ian felt his insides tighten and his orgasm coming on so he tapped Mickey on the shoulder who had his eyes closed, a contcentrated look on his face.  
“Shit, Mickey, I'm gonna come.” He opened his eyes and looked at him, biting down on his lower lip. “Almost there, Gallagher.” The redhead started moving again, slower this time, trying to hold back but Mickey didn't seem anywhere as close as he was at this point. He raised his eyebrows warningly. “I'm gonna come, Mick, I can't hold it back much longer.” And Mickey sat up a bit, supporting his body on one of his elbows, pulling Ian closer with his other hand.  
“Say you want me!” He panted breathless and Ian nodded eagerly, repeating his words.  
“Only me!” They were head to head, barely moving as Ian grasped what was hindering Mickey from reaching completion. He picked up the pace one last time while bringing his mouth close to Mickeys ear, purring lowly.  
“I want only you! Nobody else, Mick. You're exactly who I wanna be with. Not Ned, not Troy. Only-” Finally Mickey clenching around him pulling his head in for another kiss while they both came together, grunting and groaning ecstatically.  
Mickey let his head sink back onto the bed after they rode out their orgasms, a blissful smile on his face.  
Ian just flopped down on top of him, unable and unwilling to move.  
“Possesive little fuck, aren't you?” Ian laughed tiredly and Mickey just slapped his asscheek.  
“Fuck off, Gallagher. Need sleep.” And it only took him another couple of breaths before he drifted off.  
Well that was a new side of Mickey. Ian thought, pleasantly surprised ass he drifted to sleep as well, still inside of Mickey, right where he wanted to be. 


	11. eleven

Their sunday pretty much continued the way they started it. It was a marathon of getting food, smoking breaks and a whole lot of fucking.  
Something Mickey was more than okay with, since he had been dreading another one of Ian's talks about his behavior at Neds house.   
What the fuck was he supposed to tell him? That he saw the old dude and got so jealous he could feel it inside him, firing him on, feeding all these thoughts he had about Ian being too good for him?  
Shit, he still couldn't figure out why he was even hanging out with him. It wasn't like he was just that good to talk to or nice to have around.  
When you had to break it down, Mickey was a moody, rude ex-con with a future as bright as his hair.   
And Ian Gallagher was everything. Polite, nice, playful, kind but also serious, intimidating and dead sexy. The fact that he wanted to even be near him was a mystery by itself but it was working out so far and he wasn't gonna complain and fuck things up intentionally. He would, though. Sooner or later. He was a real Milkovich after all. But until that day he was going to enjoy the company of the lean, muscular ginger and roll with it.  
The only question left in Mickeys brain that night, was how the fuck the damn hot tub thing worked. It just didn't make any sense to him and he was way too proud to ask Ian and risk being laughed at for the rest of the week.   
It seemed like the universe tried to even out the level of fun Mickey was having, so with sunday being pretty much the greatest and most satisfying day in the past few years, monday was the exact opposite.   
They had a “lunch meeting” as Ian called it, with Jeff, his future boss. After waking up with aching bones and swollen lips in the late hours of the monday morning, Mickey and Ian took a quick shower together and got ready for the heat of the Los Angeles weather.   
“Gallagher!” Mickey barked from his closet and it only took a few more seconds until Ian appeared in the door, a towel around his waist and a goofy smile on his face.   
“What's up, _Milkovich_?” Mickey made a sloppy gesture towards his wardrobe, messily folded and thrown into the shelves of the closet and bit his lower lip.   
“What the fuck does one wear to a meeting with your boss?” Ian smiled and pressed his lips together as if he was trying to hold back another snide comment, but he got over it quickly and went through his clothes with trained rigor. He was grabbing T-shirts and jeans and every single item was thrown on the ground with a disapproving growl.   
“No, there's nothing in there you can wear. Come on!” He grabbed him by the collar of his tank top and pulled him towards his own bedroom. He opened his giant closet and revealed a, in Mickeys opinion, ridiculously large wardrobe.   
“Aren't you just all beige and polo shirts?” Ian overlooked the comment and started sorting through his own clothes, trying to find something Mickey could wear.   
“Why does all your stuff smell of barbecue sauce, huh? Ever heard of a washing machine?” Mickey shot him a glare.  
“Leave my barbecue sauce out of it, this is between you and me.” Ian huffed bemusedly turned back around to face his wardrobe.  
It only took about two minutes until he was reaching out his arm and waving a black short-sleeved button down shirt and some skinny jeans in front of his face.   
“Here, put this on. It's all a little small for me.” Mickey shook his head and grabbed the clothes out of his hands.  
After yanking them on and avoiding the mirror, because he was sure he wasn't going to like what he would see, he put on the gold chain Mandy had once stolen for his birthday and shuffled back to Gallaghers room.  
He found him sitting on the bed, dressed in cargo shorts and a very flattering gray t-shirt, tying his shoelaces.  
Mickey harrumphed awkwardly and looked down at his knuckles sheepishly when he met Ians stunned look.  
“That looks great, Mick. Shame we have to leave in a couple of minutes, otherwise I would rip that shirt right off of you.” He grinned and raised one eyebrow provocatively then got up and unbuttoned the two upper buttons of his shirt, showing off his chain.  
“I love the necklace on you, you know?” He leaned in closer and put his forehead against his. Mickey couldn't hide the little flattered smile that crept onto his face. He honestly couldn't remember the last time somebody had looked at him the way Ian did, if ever.  
He patted Ians hand shortly, not really knowing how to deal with this sort of flattery, then took step back and fondled for a cigarette in his pocket.  
“Do we got time for a smoke before we leave?” Ian nodded, smiling fondly at him and followed him out to the garden.

 

The meeting took place in backyard of a hipster looking little cafe that was advertising itself with the slogan: “100% vegan”, Mickeys nightmare, right there.   
He stopped before the shop and Ian chuckled at the shocked expression on his face.  
“Look, it's not that bad. It's Jeffs favorite place. Just order a salad and _do not_ order a beer. It's not even noon, yet and this is a business meeting.” Mickeys last hope for this meeting being the least bit fun for him slipped away at Ians words and his expression turned into his usual intimidating glare. Ian stroke his back soothingly, pulling his hand away before Mickey could slap it away and leaned in close for a moment.  
“Look, just keep it together for two hours and I'll take you to McDonalds after. McRib and I'll get you extra barbecue sauce. Alright?” Mickey raised his eyebrows and smiled contently.  
“Aight. Now you're speaking a language I can understand, Gallagher.” Ian laughed and started walking up to the front yard of the vegan place waving at a clean shaven, suit wearing man, that had to be at least ten years older than him.  
“Ian, hi.” Mickey tried not to scoff at the flamboyant man and even put a fake smile on his face when they reached the table. He offered the blonde man a hand but he didn't take it. _Strike 1.._  
Instead Jeff got up, threw his arms up dramatically and drew Ian in for a hug.  
“Babe, I haven't seen you in forever. How have you been?” Mickey fought the strong urge to turn around right that second and walk off. He could already feel that him and Jeff weren't gonna be friends anytime soon.  
Ian shot him an apologizing look as he sat down and small-talked his way through the first 15 minutes of their meeting.   
“Yeah, that's it, basically. Jeff, this is Mickey Milkovich, the consultant I've been telling you about.” Finally, for the first time that Jeff guy turned his head away from Ian and faced Mickey, a politely interested smile on his tanned face.  
“Hi, sorry. You just get lost in those green eyes, don't you?” Mickey kicked Ian hard on the shin underneath the table, when he burst out laughing at Mickeys startled face.  
“Sure, whatever.” Jeff eyed both men wearily, then reached a hand out, touching Ians biceps.   
He turned to Mickey, with a wink. “Always nice to catch up with my favorite fuck buddy, you know.” Mickey sighed. _Of course he was sleeping with the faggy gay dude._  
“Shoulda guessed.” He smiled sourly and avoided Ians uncomfortable stares. He was definitely done talking about the matter, for now.  
“So about that job. Is it a done deal?” Jeffs smile seemed fake and he was definitely taking off guard by Mickeys directness.   
“Oh, going straight for the business. I Like you.” He didn't like him. I t was written all over his smile that was a little too bright and the way he kept his hand lingering on Ians arm. Somebody was marking his territory and Mickey found it hilarious.  
Especially the way Ian turned and tossed around in his seat, torn between keeping his boss happy and fearing another outburst of bad temper on Mickeys side, like when they visited Ned in his practice.

The job was a done deal. Jeff had brought the paperwork in a big black folder and signing it took about two minutes.  
After Jeffs goodbyes were said by slapping Ians ass and hugging him tightly, their paths parted and Jeff got in his Cabrio in front of the restaurant, parked in a handicapped parking spot and drove away, while Mickey and Ian silently walked back to where they'd left the car.  
There was an awkward silent between them, as Ian really didn't know what to say and Mickey didn't really feel like talking at all.   
After a few minutes, the tension in the air became too hard for Ian to handle so he took a deep breath and turned to face Mickey at the next red light.  
“Um, so, how'd you like Jeff?” The corners of the thugs face turned upwards and he fiddled for the pack of smokes in his pocket, like he always did when nervous, until he remembered the no smoking rule in the range rover.  
“Super nice dude!” Mickey cheered with a huge smile on his face. “You just get lost in his eyes, don't you?” Ian rolled his eyes but couldn't stop himself from giggling at the cheap Jeff-impression.   
“Come on, he's not that bad. He's a good friend.” Mickey scoffed. “Yeah, I bet. Friends with benefits are always the best ones, aren't they?” He wasn't too mad about it, just taken aback by Gallaghers choice of men.   
Ian ignored his bickering thoroughly and drove the car to the nearest Mc Donalds. “Wait here!” Mickey got his wallet out and tried to hand Ian a few bills, but he waved him off.  
“My treat, babe. Anything else you want besides what we talked about?” Ian leaned against the rolled down window of his car and smirked at Mickey who made a big deal of deciding if there was anything else he wanted. He took his time and Ian rolled his eyes.  
“Come on, there's not _that_ much to choose from. Is there anything else you're hungry for?” Mickey winked at him, opened his legs a bit more and suggestively raised his eyebrows. “There's a few other things I could think of, but I doubt they'll be on the menu, you know?” Ian threw his head back laughing and turned around to walk to the restaurant. Before he walked through the doors, he turned around again, hands raised to shield his eyes from the sun.   
“We'll get to the other things later, if you behave!” Mickey licked his lip, although he doubted that Ian could still see him and watched him disappear through the door. He really could wear the hell out of a simple t-shirt.

Fifteen minutes and three cigarettes later, Ian returned with two bags in his hand, balancing a trey with two softdrinks in his arms. Mickey hopped out of the car and opened the car door behind the drivers seat for him. “Love it when you open the backdoor for me!” He giggled and skilfully avoided getting slapped, then placed the bags on the backseat.   
They drove home in silence the smell of the fast food making their mouths water and Ian drive faster. They   
spread the food out on the table on the porch and dug in. “Ugh!” Mickey groaned enthusiastically when he'd eaten the last of his fries. “I haven't had that in ages. That's like, better than sex.” Ian put the burger down, that he was just about to take a bite from and stared at him incredulously.  
“Seriously? Am I that bad at sex?” Mickey laughed and leaned against the backrest of his chair. “Naw, man. You're fine. Definitely one of the best I've had and I haven't banged a dude in ages. And with chicks it's just no fun.”   
With statement, Ian was completely baffled. “What do you mean, chicks? Aren't you gay?” Mickey shifted on his seat uncomfortably, clearly having given away way too much. Normally he kept that part of his life strictly under wraps. “I guess. It's just something you gotta do when you live in the Southside and you got a fag basher as a dad. It's self preservation, basically.” Mickey avoided the gingers eyes in front of him and traced the tattoos on his knuckles with his index finger.   
Ian, not knowing what to say, stayed quiet. “Look. It's just the way it is. No fun, but you gotta do what you gotta do. Anyways, I stopped when I got Svetlana pregnant. Trust me, knocked up chicks are the worst.”  
If Ian had been a cartoon character, he would've sprayed the coke in his mouth across the whole table and maybe his lower jaw would've dropped. But he wasn't so he just sat there, staring at his guest with eyes as big as saucers. Mickey felt his mouth go dry but it was too late to stop sharing now, having already revealed way too much to back out.   
“What do you mean pregnant? Mickey, do you have a kid?” Ian sat there, hoping that the answer would either be no or that there wouldn't be an answer at all. Mickey harrumphed and kept his eyes locked on his hands, avoiding to make eye contact with Ian at all.  
“I might have a son. Chick was a whore so I can't be sure. Lives at my house most of the time” Ian was sure he had no words left, but somehow he still managed to squeeze out a sentence. “Why would you sleep with a whore, Mick? You're hot you could have anyone.” Mickey laughed sourly and fiddled out a cigarette from his pocket.  
“Wasn't exactly consensual.” It wasn't more than a whisper and Ian was sure he had heard the thug wrong.  
“What was that?” Mickey finally looked up and shot him a glare. “I said, _it wasn't exactly consensual._ I'm done talking about this.” There was a short moment, where Ian could read all his emotions in his eyes. Pain, fear, anger and then the moment and faded and he put on his usual _i don't give a fuck about anything or anyone._ mask. Ian reached a hand over the table and tried stroking Mickeys, but he quickly pulled his hand out of the redheads reach. “What the fuck?” He shot up angrily and threw his burning cigarette on the floor while he stormed out of the garden and into the living room, murmuring something about taking a shower. 

 

Mickey lay on his bed, fuming about what had just happened and stared holes into the ceiling. He hated himself for oversharing and Ian for making him feel this secure and safe that the words slipped out of his mouth like he was talking about the weather. This wasn't something he had ever talked about. The Milkovich way of dealing with things was firstly, not to and secondly, drink lots of alcohol to forget anything ever happened. A mantra that had worked out for him so far. Now, with Ian in the mix he suddenly felt differently about a lot of things in his life and that wasn't something he knew how to deal with.   
Whilst drowning in his own thoughts and anger, something hit him in the face. Mickey shot into a seating position and caught the little plastic bag that fell from his face. Ian was standing in the doorway, a shy smile on his face and one of the bags from McDonalds in his hand. “Very funny. What do I need fucking delicious barbecue sauce for right now?” Mickey picked up the sachet, threw it back in Ians direction and lay back down. Undoubtedly a bad decision, since his face was now covered in the sauce bags. When Ian had emptied the whole bag of BBQ sauce, he flopped down next to Mickey and gently freed his face from the plastic. “Here's the extra barbecue sauce you wanted.” He giggled and laid flat on his back staring at the ceiling, just like Mickey was doing.   
“Listen, I know, you don't wanna talk about his, so you don't have to. But just listen to what I have to say: I grew up with a father that was constantly drunk and m.i.a and it sucked. I would've loved it to even just talk to him every once in a while. So, and I'm just suggesting this, you obviously don't have to do it if you don't want to, but you could just pay him a visit, next time you go back to Chicago. I mean he must be like 6 years old now, right?” Mickey didn't answer right away. Instead he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to stay calm and answer nicely instead of just cussing Ian off.   
“How about I think about it`? And this doesn't mean I'm close to saying yes to this. It really only means that I'll think about it.” He could practically hear Ians content smile next to him and just knowing he was there next to him made him feel a lot more at ease than only seconds ago.  
“Now I've got something to say. You ready?” Ian nodded and Mickey picked up one of the plastic bags.  
“What the fuck do I need like 60 bags of BBQ sauce for? We'll never get rid of all of these before they go bad.” The redhead giggled and rolled himself on top of Mickey.  
“I know a good way to start.” He yanked off his shirt started opening the pants of the man beneath him.  
“Jesus, firecrotch. You've gotta start giving my ass a little time to recover.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is a little short, I'm on vacation right now. Hope you like this and thanks for reading!!

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think! (i love reading your comments!)  
> Come talk to me on tumblr [here.](http://www.shamelesschicago.tumblr.com) Or send me prompts [here.](http://www.shamelesschicago.tumblr.com/ask)  
> Thank you for reading, i love youu ♥


End file.
